


Emeralds for Trade

by prelovedsinner



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Dream is a bit of a badass tho, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Found Family, King Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Minor Character Death, Pining, Prince George - Freeform, Protective Dream, Roses that are kinda fictional?, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, it'll make sense I promise, so is techno, well at least George thinks so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28918203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prelovedsinner/pseuds/prelovedsinner
Summary: "You never left your fucking land until a fragile prince with a pretty face walked into the picture," he snarled, charging forward.---"We're not so different, you and I," the king began, lifting the bone mask from his face and glaring down with piercing green eyes that marked his enemy's last breaths.He tossed it to the ground, before pressing his foot down on the trembling man's chest. Ignoring the pleading and clawing, he raised his sword above his head, body taut, using all his strength when he snapped back down like a rubber band."I've got a bit of an ego myself."---(After meeting at a ball, Dream has taken a liking to Prince George and the way he blushes so pretty. But Dream's a bit of a cocky bastard and George doesn't like that.)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Niki | Nihachu/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 104
Kudos: 310





	1. Your Stars, But Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince George finds himself at a ball, miles away from home, amongst aristocrats who are less than welcoming. A certain king takes notice of him.

The queen fussed over the young prince's blazer. The blue cloth was sewn with intricate geometric designs that drew attention to a small but brilliant diamond that was embedded over where his heart was. Although it fitted his form nicely, his mother was picking out invisible stray threads and dust particles small enough that a convex lens would be needed to even notice its presence.

"Darling, you know you don't have to go, right? The Emeralds-"

"Yes, yes, I know. You've told me what they're like," George assured gently, though he had yet to stop her from incessantly brushing his outfit.

"I know that you're more than capable, we just worry-

" _Mum_ , I'm fine." The young prince's slender fingers wrap around his mother's wrists, gently pulling them away from his suit.

Her concerns were not unfounded. Apart from their neighboring Kingdom of Gold, George had yet to meet with foreign royals. Although he was well capable, he had never experienced firsthand the passive aggression, the condescending tones that his parents experience every time a glistening, stamped invitation arrives at their doorstep.

Even worse, this was Emerald - the richest kingdom in their continent. They had won a war all the way from across the ocean just two years before. He didn’t even have to personally step foot on a boat. The king was said to be ruthless with a sword, and dangerously charming. He needed to make a good impression in hopes of solidifying strong allies in the future.

"You've spent 20 years raising me to be charming and compassionate. I remember my manners and etiquette, I can manage a ball. I want to attend."

The queen tutted, taking a step back and turning the young man towards the mirror. Through it, he watched her reach for something behind her. His eyes flickered to his advisor and friend who was standing by the door, an amused smile on his face. He gave George an encouraging wink, causing George to smile and bite back a laugh. He felt a gentle weight press on his head as she placed a thin, silver diadem embedded with a few small, brilliant blue gems. It was rather humble for a crown of royal status, but it suited him well.

With arms wrapping around him, she rests her chin on his shoulder. The two lock eyes through the mirror, a soft smile on her highness' carefully powdered face. The short speech she had prepared proved to be unneeded as her son gleamed before her with sophistication, warmth, and resilience. Just as how a young prince should hold himself.

"My handsome prince. We're so proud of you, son," she whispered, planting a gentle kiss on George's cheek.

"Of course you are," he spoke playfully, though the gentleness in his tone said more than needed.

* * *

They arrived at the ball, finally, after nearly half a day's journey.

Passing through the Obsidian kingdom proved more troublesome than expected, considering they had only recently been acknowledged as a real country.

The self-proclaimed king had lived in the area, once unclaimed land on the cusp of Gold and Emerald, in nothing but dense forestry. In just five years, the young leader had managed to raise the population tenfold and erect buildings comparable in strength to that of Diamond's city planning.

Despite that, years of arguments, discussions, and a war that was short-lived finally amounted to the continent-wide acknowledgement of the Obsidian region last month. It was impressive. From what he heard, the opposing leader would probably never forget the sight of a blade pointed to his throat by a man with pink hair and a steel gaze.

The guards were, understandably, stricter than they would have been before things got messy.

His parents had met with the hulking king once before, he recalled mother mentioning. A man with long pink hair, a veil that took the form of a hog, broad shoulders draped in a thick red cape and lined with fine fur. They had met with him over a buffet with Gold and no conflict arose. Still, despite their relationship being void of hostility or animosity, what would typically be a half-hour long transit turned into two hours.

Luckily, they had taken into account the potential bumps in the road. They reached the gates right on time.

Their arrival at the pearly gates of Emerald truly was a sight to behold. George had to consciously prevent his jaw from dropping in awe. The castle looked like it was made by the gods themselves.

Tall windows littered the smooth quartz exterior, all stained a light green tint. Even the accents to the pillars were painted with what seemed to be real gold and emerald; An unnecessarily effective show of status. Diamond's castle dwarfed in comparison. Years of royal education did not do justice in portraying the sheer wealth that the foreign kingdom exuded. This was old money, and the prince had never felt so young.

Walking through to the ballroom felt like a haze of blue linen and assuring shoulder squeezes. Some curious gazes fell over the young, unfamiliar prince walking behind the King and Queen of Diamond. Anxiety had been served to him on a silver plate without his approval. While the averting gazes of the servants made his stomach queasy, watching his family stride forward in confidence and elegance calmed his nerves bit by bit and soon, he followed in stride.

 _I’m okay,_ he thought. _This isn't as scary as I had expected._

His mother gave him one final encouraging look over her shoulder before they drifted over to the corner of the ball where kings and queens were somewhat congregated. This left him in the crowd of strangers, having to put his lessons into practice.

A sea of bright reds, royal blues and all the other colours symbolic of the different countries within the region (and a few from beyond, he recognised) all gathered in one room under the guise of a party. When really, he knew that this was just an informal business meeting.

“Prince George?” A familiar voice spoke to his right. And god, did it feel like a welcoming hand of comfort pulling him to shore. Beside him now stood the curly-haired boy with the warm smile and heart of gold. He was dressed as such, clad in a bright gold coat that draped long over his cream, silken tunic.

“Prince Soot,” George breathed out with a relaxed smile inching its way onto his face. “Lovely to see you again. You look wonderful today.”

“As do you, your highness,” the other prince responded warmly.

“How have you been, my friend? Danced with any maidens yet? Surely there are one or two who catch your eye.”

Wilbur laughed at that, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. He glanced up to the area which sat a few kings and queens. George’s attention was directed towards the group, which included his own parents, King Phil Watson and King Technoblade himself.

Well, he used the term ‘King’ lightly. With Technoblade, the young ruler did not refer to himself as a king. He identified himself as the Leader of the Obsidian Region. His pink locks paired with the hog mask that covered the upper half of his face stuck out like a sore thumb - The only other royal who hid his face was the King of Emerald himself.

Perhaps following the normalcy of aristocratic culture and adhering to the unnecessary unspoken rules were not his forte. George respected that. It was exhausting to keep up sometimes. Though, he did wonder what the two were hiding under there. He was used to seeing the faces of those around him, gauging their expressions and emotions, and reacting accordingly.

He wondered if his parents mentioned the hassle that Obsidian borders caused them. Though, given the polite nature of his parents, he doubted it.

"The King of Obsidian? Surely not," George said with a laugh.

The other man's face contorted to a scowl, making George laugh again, stifling it into his hand to prevent its volume from turning heads.

" _Of course not_. But amongst his entourage is a lovely Lady. Locks of gold, gentle hands and kind eyes. Absolutely enchanting."

The earlier look of distaste had softened completely to one of eager curiosity as he glanced over at her occasionally, careful not to make his attention apparent. Only then did George notice the petite woman behind Techno. She was talking to a servant boy with brown hair, about the same age as Tommy. Prince Tommy was instead trying to drag him off to somewhere else, speaking animatedly.

"She's his second in command. We spoke earlier this evening, in passing, but I have yet to ask her to dance. She told me I had a voice like a sunset, can you believe that?"

Seeing the shift in Wilbur's tone when mentioning the maiden made George's heart swell slightly. Though they hadn't known each other for long, it was nice seeing a friend's soft spot being hit. It was endearing.

"Sounds to me like you should go have a word with her."

"Me? Oh gosh, I couldn't... Could I? It would be improper, wouldn't it?"

"Why would it be?" George urged with a gentle nudge to his shoulder. "Prince Wilbur, Gold and Obsidian's relations are stable at the moment. Perhaps a union could be of Technoblade's benefit."

He hummed out a noise of contemplation, before pacing backwards a few steps, beckoning the other to follow him as he did. George found himself whisked away to the refreshments table. Wilbur's following tone had a hint of lighthearted teasing.

“If I do recall, the last time we spoke, you mentioned that you had never been involved in international gatherings. This wouldn’t be your first time, would it?”

“That would be right,” George confirmed with a shy smile, taking a tentative sip of his wine. “I have quite the first impression to make on others. I’m sure, being the wonderful friend that you are, you could introduce me to some of the others here."

Wilbur glanced around the room as he considered it.

"Although I'd like to, I feel as though it would ruin the first impression. You're a charismatic young lad, I doubt you'd need me at all," Wilbur encouraged with a pat on the back. George hummed in response, taking a sip of his wine.

"I suppose that's true."

A moment of silence passed between them before Wilbur seemed to concede.

"However, since I am familiar with most here, I suppose I could point out some significant faces and tell you what to look out for. Some interesting characters reside amongst the aristocrats, and even I wish I had a retrospective when I first joined the scene. You'll get the fresh start I wish I had."

"Really? I would really appreciate that, thank you, Prince Wilbur."

The taller man smiled warmly, giving a dismissive nod.

"So you see that man on the opposite side of the room with the horns of a ram?"

Wilbur looked down at his drink as he spoke, letting George glance over casually to the direction mentioned. There stood a well-dressed individual that donned a dark grey, almost black suit. His dark brown facial hair was short, but thick and covered his cheeks and upper lip. He had a calm expression, though his focused eyes seemed to scan the room.

The shorter man let out a hum in response, ensuring his gaze doesn't linger for too long. He looked away just before the man looked at their direction.

"King of Netherite. I'd stay away if I were you. I'm sure you've heard of what happened between him and Technoblade, he's ruthless."

It was nice to finally be able to place a face to the name. King Jebediah Schlatt was infamous for being cunning and unyielding in his pursuit of expansion. The conquest had definitely not been without casualties, either.

He would be sure to stay far away enough from the king if possible.

"I have indeed. His name isn't one that's easily forgotten. Why is he here, isn't he from the Nether region?"

"Well, he has bases in a few countries here. Lapis, Redstone... Being such a large stakeholder, King Clayton would be more or less obligated to send an invite, even across to the next continent."

"Of course."

Wilbur carried on, pointing out a couple of other aristocrats and letting him know what they were like and how to gain their favour. George took a mental note of each one and prepped himself for a series of polite introductions.

They took another few steps around so George was once again more or less facing the table his parents sat at.

"I know you haven't met Techno formally yet, but he's a respectable man. As long as you don't ask about the mask; He'll bring it up to you if he feels like it. Give him no reason to upset him, and he will show you nothing but kindness. He once gave Tommy a whole new axe after he mentioned that it was blunt from hunting. Young lad's got a bit of a temper on him, but that cheered him up rather quick."

"That's nice of him. I remember hearing Tommy's yelling all the way from my chambers the other day when you visited," George recalled with a laugh, which Wilbur echoed.

"Sounds like him, alright. On that note though, I should probably go make sure he isn't up to any mischief. I hope that was a decent masterclass on the scene of Royalty."

"It was more than helpful, thank you again."

"Of course, anytime."

"Oh, and Wilbur?"

"Yes?"

"Ask the lady to dance, it won't kill you."

Wilbur's cheeks flushed a rosy pink and he gave a curt nod and a wink, before disappearing back into the crowd and looking for his younger brother. George was alone once again, with a glass of wine in his hand and a vague idea of what to do next.

The following hour or so was spent getting acquainted with other princes and princesses. The kings and queens who weren't too untouchable also gave George some of their time, exchanging brief introductions and shallow smiles. It got tiring after a while. Nobody had laughed or made him laugh as Wilbur had, and he had yet to make a new friend in the room.

Every time he would join in on a group's conversation, the topic would shift to George and his personal life, which he felt uncomfortable opening up about. He usually managed to segue the conversation to more familiar, surface-level ones. However, the young prince found himself standing with the King of Redstone, who was really testing his patience.

"I heard,” the King before him began with a wide, condescending smile, “that Diamond’s King is a weak man. Please don’t take offence to this, I ask out of concern. But he has taught you how to fight, right?”

To add to his point, he pressed a gentle push to George’s shoulder with two fingers.

He seemed pleasantly surprised when George didn’t budge from his spot. Instead, he stood firm. Despite the blatant slander of his father’s name, he forced out a polite smile, fuelled with passive aggression. He knew how to play the game, he had to keep a level head and stick to his strategy.

His father was kind, not weak. Although George hadn’t been taught to fight, he had been raised with lessons on city planning, history and the arts. He had read enough books to fill a library, he was smart with his tongue and sharper with a quill. There was no need to prove this to the prince before him. Wilbur had mentioned that this man tests people’s temper as a means of assessment, and George was not about to show any sign of weakness.

“Of course, none taken. He’s made me strong in my own right. King Alastair, are you familiar with Sun Tzu?”

Alastair looked even more surprised, the condescending smile losing its malice.

“Of course. 'The wise warrior avoids the battle.' Smart man."

He held out his hand, an olive branch extended which George accepted with an internal sigh of relief. They shake hands, with as firm a grip as their understanding of one another.

"Call me Eret.”

He'd passed the test.

* * *

The next few royals he met weren’t as quick to warm up to him. His patience was wearing thin as he dealt with similar condescending comments. It took a lot of tiptoeing to walk the line between being polite enough to not offend, and being sharp enough to not be stepped on. George hadn’t anticipated this to have such a drain on his energy and he soon found himself needing to pull away for a breather.

With a polite smile, he excused himself. _‘One too many glasses of this fine wine,’_ he joked, drawing a few curt laughs from the group. He navigated his way to the balcony, passing through the tall curtains and closing the glass doors behind him.

The moonlight falling gently against the pristine quartz balcony served as a sharp contrast from the glaring ballroom with candle-lit chandeliers. In there, it felt cold; artificial, fake. Despite the unfamiliar late autumn breeze, the slits of light between the barrier of pillars felt warm and inviting, lined with rows of gold-stemmed roses. The designs on them were intricate, painstakingly hand-crafted, and the same can be said for the stone bench adorned with green gems. This prompted the young prince to take a seat on the cool seat.

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and enjoyed the view. With the cool late autumn breeze mellowing his thoughts and sending a shiver down his spine, he glanced up.

Sometimes, when things seem uncertain, the stars can be your anchor. Always present in the night sky, if you were to just pay a little more attention. It takes a couple of moments for eyes to adjust to the darkness. But when it does, you'll see distant lanterns you would have otherwise never noticed, nestled far beyond the stratosphere.

To George's surprise, however, the freckles littering the vacuum above seemed to have tripled in number. _Was it always like this here?_

A dollop of envy was added to his plate, and along with it, awe.

He had always thought the stars were beautiful as they were, but had never considered that they could look... _different_. If there was an option to move his home here to look at this version of the scene endlessly, he would take it in a heartbeat.

"Gorgeous, isn't it?" A voice spoke from behind him.

He hadn't heard the door open. Or perhaps, it didn't open at all, and the stranger was already stood somewhere on the balcony, out of view of the young prince. George turned his head.

The moonlight didn't do much to illuminate him, so the prince could not quite see the colour of the man's suit, nor the colour of the gems on his crown. They almost seemed gold, but that surely couldn't be the case, else he would have recognised the voice behind it.

The quiet tread of the man’s polished loafers followed around the bench before he sat next to the now dumbfounded George. He didn’t even look at the young prince yet. In his hands twirled a rose, suspiciously similar to the ones that lined the barriers of the balcony. Blooming red, with a golden stem that almost glistened in the moonlight.

“Did you just pick that?” George asked incredulously.

“I did."

“I don't think that's allowed..."

"Really?"

His accent, George noticed, was not southern, so he was definitely closer to central or northern territories.

"Yes, I doubt the King would be very happy with someone plucking his beautiful property."

The man turned his head.

Instead of eyes, staring back at George was two circles and a wide smile, carved into some kind of white convex disc. The aforementioned mask covered half his face, with a few tufts of (what he assumed to be) dirty blond hair just barely spilling over the top of it. The material seemed too matte to be metal but too smooth to just be wood. The indentations were emphasized with some sort of black stain, George guessed that it was probably ink. It stopped right around the man's nose, revealing the amused smirk on his lips.

He blinked a few times before what he was looking at finally registered in his mind.

Emerald. He was the king of Emerald.

"I think I'll be alright," the man said with a laugh.

The prince's cheeks turned pink. How embarrassing, speaking to a king that way. And worse, being laughed at for it. Though there seemed to be no malice behind his amused tone, the last thing he wanted was to be looked down on.

"Oh. King Clayton Alexander. My apologies, I didn't know-"

"Hey," he was cut off, "Don't worry about it. I assume you're of Diamond origins?"

Though George couldn't see behind the mask, he could assume that this was deduced from his light blue attire.

The King now began plucking the thorns from the stem, very gingerly, his attention still trained on George. His calloused fingers had been too rough for the edges to pierce before, so flicking off the sharp spikes were no problem for him.

"I am. George Davidson, Prince of Diamond. It's lovely to meet you, your highness."

King Clayton tilted his head slightly, examining him for a few moments longer. He let out a quiet hum of contemplation.

"George. A beautiful name for a beautiful prince. Lovely to meet you too. And please, call me Dream. That's my name."

The compliment made the young man blush. He looked away shyly, letting out a nervous laugh.

The rose had been de-thorned by now, the gold stem no longer littered with little spikes. The shallow indentations where they had been ripped off were slightly paler than the rest of the thorns, but under the moonlight, it looked all the same.

"Thank you. My apologies, King Dream, I’ll refer to you as such from now on."

Dream focused his attention up to the stars, where George had been staring before. The prince found himself doing the same, adjusting to the company.

"How are you finding the party, Prince George?"

"Wonderful so far." He was only half-lying. "The wine is truly amazing."

"Thank you. I picked that one out myself, I'm glad it was to your taste. Cost a pretty penny."

"It was. And the architecture here is breathtaking," he added, looking over at the man.

"Of course it is. It was crafted with the best materials in the country. We're the most powerful kingdom in the continent, we have to look the part," Dream said with a small grin.

George had to stop himself from cringing in distaste. There was a fine line between confidence and arrogance, and Dream had ruined it, walking through it and kicking the sand it was drawn in.

He could think of about ten other ways that the other nations held superiority over Emerald. The size of Diorite's territory, harvest yield of Lapis' bountiful crops, lowest crime rate. The list goes on. Although Emerald was the wealthiest kingdom on the continent, whether or not it was the most powerful was debatable.

The other aristocrats had a pattern of talking down on him, in their own subtle ways. Moreover, a lot of it was covert; hidden between the lines of formalities, trusting him to pick up on them and hoping for him to take the comments to heart. But they hadn't gloated about their own kingdoms, spoken of how much richer they were to Diamond, how much stronger. It was a known fact; Diamond wasn't the richest rook in the game. Dream's approach appeared to be far more grating.

"Right…"

They were quiet for a few moments. It wasn't quite tense, but George wasn't exactly relaxed either. He found himself staring at the roses that climbed the barrier, watching the way they shimmered and curved over one another. Hundreds of ruby red blooms and carats of golden stems.

"You were looking at the stars, but I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that they're not the reason you're here."

This took him by surprise.

"Pardon me?"

"You're here." Dream twirled the rose between his fingers. "You're out here, alone, because you wanted a break. Why is that?"

"I just needed a breather."

"Was it getting too much?”

“Sorry?” George responded, affronted.

Dream held the rose up higher, letting the moonlight hit it at all the right angles as he examined his work. He ran his thumb over the stem, satisfied with how smooth it felt under his thumb given the fact that it was previously littered with thorns.

“The ball. The superficial formalities, the boot-licking social climbers. It can get overwhelming.”

"I hope you're not underestimating me. I can hold my own just fine."

"Not at all. Everyone needs a break sometimes."

Dream slid closer, resting an arm on the backrest of the stone seat. George could feel the warmth of his presence near him, their knees just barely touching. His breath caught in his throat and he didn’t look up at the man, even though he really wanted to. Dream leaned in closer, his breath just barely grazing George’s ear and his voice barely a whisper with promises of something he couldn’t quite place.

“I’m out here too, aren’t I?”

And with that, George turned his head, face-to-face with the masked individual, only inches apart. Dream was almost leaning forward, taunting, teasing. George felt crowded in, but it didn’t feel like a threat. And suddenly, the plate that had accumulated various emotions throughout the night spilt over, leaving his mind blank and vision fuzzy.

“I suppose so.”

A smirk fell on Dream’s lips and he reached down to take hold of George’s smaller hand. He paused, giving the man a chance to pull away. When he didn’t, he placed the stem of the rose in the palm of his hand and carefully closed George’s fingers around it. The sensation snapped the smaller man out of it, looking down at the rose he was given. It was gorgeous, freshly bloomed. Only then did George lean back slightly, needing a moment to collect his thoughts and emotions.

Dream was cocky. He was arrogant, clearly felt superior as a human being, and George should stay away from him. But there he was, spinning George, twirling him between his fingers like the rose he previously held. How could a man with only half his face exposed be so magnetic?

Noticing how flustered the brunette was, Dream let out a laugh. George couldn’t tell if he was being condescended or if he was just assuming the worst. Regardless, he stood up from his seat, holding the rose in confusion and indignance.

“I hope we’ll meet again soon, Prince George.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took two whole weeks to write this chapter because I'm slow and brain go brrr


	2. The Weight Of A Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George visits the town square, and leaves with a newfound sense of duty to his people. He spends some time with a guest who isn't so different from himself after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter takes place about a week before the ball.

The clouds were thick that day. They loomed overhead, not quite thick enough to yield rain, but enough to scatter the rays of sun before they could hit the dirt roads and cobble paths. On such a day, the chill in the air was especially harsh. George had a modest coat draped over his shoulders, his plain white tunic not doing much to shield him from the weather.

"George, are you sure today's a good day to be out and about?"

The advisor held a notepad in his hands, spinning the fountain pen between his fingers. 

"Oh, come on, Sapnap. Who's to say any other day this autumn would be quite as lovely? It's not raining, nor is it too sunny."

Nick (or, 'Sapnap', as his prince had nicknamed him fondly) clicked his tongue in disapproval, but decided not to press the matter. He knew better than to interrupt George's momentum on a good day.

"We don't have long before we need to return to greet the guests, though. Let's hurry on, then, yeah?" George quickened his pace a little with a warm smile, forcing Sapnap to catch up.

They made their way to the town square, and the prince was immediately swarmed with a small crowd of villagers. A couple of cheers sounded as they got to see their prince. George smiled at them all gratefully. With Sapnap by his side taking down notes, he began speaking with some of his people. The crowd had somewhat dissipated a couple minutes in, allowing George to work on his objective.

He needed to survey his people.

As he was growing older, George felt that he should be preparing to take the throne at any moment. He was an adult now, and should anything happen to cause a premature coronation, he can't be left in the dark. Sure, Nick was a lovely advisor, but he wasn't all too much older than him and they both had a lot to learn. Because of this, he decided to take his friend on this journey to the heart of the village instead of any other among the court.

As he spoke with a sweet tongue and warm hands, different citizens opened up to him. Meanwhile, Sapnap was scribbling down the important bits of what was said, what was working and what wasn’t. Of course, there was a sector of the court focused on this exact task, but hearing a watered down or summarised version of the situation just felt insufficient. These were real families with real struggles. Although George trusted his court to do their best in representing the interests of the people, he needed to be more involved.

"The rations distributed were so incredibly helpful. They helped us get by. But with the nights getting colder...The crops, your highness. They don't… the season hasn't been particularly forgiving, and with winter approaching, we worry-"

George carefully clasps the woman's shaking hands in his own, giving a gentle squeeze of assurance. His brows were knitted in concern. She was close to tears and while he knew harvest was worryingly sparse, seeing the effects on his people broke his heart.

"Of course. We'll look into more distributions as soon as we can. My sincere apologies for not having done more to ease your burdens. Is there any way I can help in a way that’s more sustainable?”

The woman smiled sadly.

“Your highness. You can’t change the weather.”

George felt his stomach sink.

Soon enough, he was to take the throne. Seeing his people suffering like this, living from ration to ration, it pained him. The soil has grown dry and less fertile over the years, the summers too hot and the winters too cold. But George refused to believe that nothing could be done.

He thanked the woman for her time and turned to Sapnap, skimming through his notes as they discussed what was collated.

As they were preoccupied, a young boy, no older than 6 came by, giving a small bow a few feet from them. Seeing this from the corner of their eyes, they looked up and George leaned forward with a warm smile. The child approached the bench, holding something in his small hands.

"Prince George, thank you for helping us with food," the young boy spoke, causing George's heart to melt.

"Of course. My parents are the ones planning all that for now, but I'll be taking over by the time you're my age, you know."

George glanced behind the little boy to where a humble coal miner stood. The man had a tired smile on his face, and he was leaning against the stone wall of a shop.

"Daddy said to give this to you."

The little boy held out a decently sized diamond. It wasn't cut the best, but it was brilliant and tinted blue. George picked it up very gingerly, examining it with awe.

"A diamond? Are you sure, young lad? This seems pretty expensive, I wouldn't want to take something so precious from you."

"We have more at home, nobody wants them so I play with them sometimes. Daddy said this one was too pretty and big to play with, and now he says he wants to give it to you."

George looked back over the kid's shoulders at the man and flashed a grateful smile. He gave an acknowledging nod of his head before pushing off from the wall and heading into the shop behind him.

"Thank you very much. I'm honored to have it, and I promise I'll keep it safe. Give your father my thanks as well, can you do that for me?"

"Of course! He'll be so happy when I tell him!"

He watched the young boy scamper away excitedly after his father, taking his hand once he’s caught up. Every second step, the young boy would jump over a stone on the dirt ground. Seeing his friend look so deep in thought, Sapnap reached out and gave George a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, who looked up at him with an appreciative smile.

“What’s on your mind, Gogy?” Sapnap asked, with his voice lowered so nobody else would catch him speaking so informally with the Prince.

“Nothing, I just… All the diamonds in the land and nobody to enjoy them. Look at this. It’s beautiful.”

Sapnap rolled the diamond around in his palm carefully, watching the way the sun shone on the gem. The diamond was indeed large and easy on the eyes. The light wasn’t yet perfectly refracted, but that was a flaw in the cut, not a flaw in the diamond itself.

“Woah. Yeah. Bit of reshaping, this could probably be on a crown or heirloom.”

“Mhm…”

Seeing how George slipped back into his head, he sighed. The advisor nudged him with his shoulder, snapping him out of it and making him look up, slightly startled.

“Hey. Let’s get out of here, yeah? Lunch should be ready around now,” he urged the prince, with an encouraging smile on his face.

“Yeah.”

* * *

"I think we should grow closer to our allies."

His father looked up at him intently. His brows furrowed in intrigue and confusion, but he showed no traces of disagreement.

"Of course. We're trying our best, we always are. I'm glad to see you being more proactive in your involvement with politics. Why the sudden thought?"

"The survey today with S- Advisor Nick. The villages. They need help, help that we cannot provide sustainably. I think we need allies who can help before we fall into a famine."

"George, darling, our friendship isn't transactional," the Queen's gentle voice chimed, "You don't cut corners when shaping a Diamond."

"I understand that we don't want to 'use' others, to ask for handouts for the sake of it. But mother, we have so much to offer. Our cloth is of renowned quality, our clams produce the most beautiful of pearls, and our mines pull diamonds almost as quickly as they pull coal. We could do so much more with trade if we were to just tap into our resources. It hardly counts as 'cutting corners'."

There was a contemplative silence as the king and queen looked at one another with expressions George couldn’t read.

"What stories did you hear from the townspeople?"

"The soil. Its fertility seems to be declining still. Citizens are living off the rations, the crops are barely giving them enough to feed themselves. And with winter coming, with no significantly lucky harvests on the horizon, I worry it would cause a strain on our reserves that will make the coming years difficult to manage. We may be helping now, but how long can we do this for?"

“George…”

George pulled out the diamond from his pocket.

"This was given to me today by a little boy. His parents had found it in the mines, along with other gems, but even the upper class within our walls seem to be too preoccupied to purchase luxuries. It hasn’t even been cut yet. They dig the coal and leave the gems they find because _nobody can afford_ the beauties we can produce.”

"Truth be told, you aren't alone in your sentiments, my son.” The king spoke finally, hands folded and tucked under his nose. “The people deserve more. But with the reputation we hold, not a lot of countries will find an incentive for trade deals. Have you considered how it could impact our standing with Redstone, for example? Their cloth is known to be of the highest quality one can import, opening ours to trade could be detrimental to our pursuit for an amicable relationship.”

George was quiet for a moment. It was his turn to think of a rebuttal. The king continued.

“We could so easily butter up the aristocrats. Befriend princes, queens, barons. But is that who we want to be? Friends rooted in transactional foundations?”

"Transactional does not need to mean superficial."

The silence spoke volumes. George was stepping up to the podium, and his parents were accepting his input as a competent adult. He had made a completely valid point, it was only a matter of ironing out the details and process with his parents. It felt as though he was finally a leader as well. They were working as a team, sharing perspectives and ideas and coming to a stable centre which would be the most beneficial to their people.

The queen was the first to speak up.

"Okay... Okay. One step at a time. How would you suggest we go about this?"

"The ball in Emerald next week. I was hesitant before, but I would like to attend."

“That’s very reasonable. Perhaps we’ve sheltered you too much, hidden you from the eyes of the nobility for too long. But your fresh face offers a clean slate and your first impression could be a useful tool," the king agreed, resting his head against his fingertips.

George smiled.

“Of course. I am more than prepared. Especially being an adult entering the scene, others will be more inclined to treat me with respect and view me maturely.”

The queen hummed in agreement, smiling back at her son.

“We can discuss preparations another day, maybe get that diamond cut right to wear on your suit. You are dismissed, please prepare yourself for guests. The Watsons of Gold are arriving any minute now, and Prince Wilbur has requested to paint in our throne room. Perhaps you could keep him company?”

* * *

It's strange how little we really hear silence in our lives. Something's always happening, someone's always talking, and we hardly get to listen to the world around us. Really listen. Your quiet breaths. The gentle thudding of your heart. The stray thoughts lingering on your mind; Not the ones that are overwhelming, but the ones that are always present in the background, rarely addressed.

And George was listening.

"Do you ever wonder how you could ever take the throne?"

The words came out rather strained. George had been sitting on these words for a while now as they painted in silence. He wasn’t too sure how it would be taken, and when he finally spit it out, he didn’t look up from his work. Perhaps he worried about what he’d see in Wilbur’s eyes. Judgement? Amusement? Whatever it was, it wasn’t worth the risk. His ego was fragile enough, his walls lowered as the hours spent together over the past few months picked at his facade.

"What d'you mean?" Wilbur paused his work and looked over at George curiously.

"Like… Whether you could step up to the plate? Fulfil expectations?"

"What, when it comes to the crown? We Watsons tend to plan way too far ahead. Dad has a book of plans for the next two decades, and when it's my turn, I won't have to start from scratch."

George didn't reply, staring at the canvas in front of him. Wilbur noticed the deliberate lack of eye contact, deciding to focus his eyes on his own canvas as he worked.

"I hear you thinking. What's goin’ on in that little noggin of yours?" Wilbur re-crossed his legs, leaning forward slightly as he worked on a more detailed section.

"I guess I'm just worried. So much is hovering over me and knowing that someday, alone, it’ll all be in my hands. I’m not expecting it so soon, but it’s still there. A distant thought that comes back every now and again."

"George, you're a smart young man. Don't underestimate yourself. The only real expectations you need to live up to are your people, not your own."

Perhaps Wilbur was right. He was putting too much pressure on himself to be perfect. He needed to do right by his people, but he couldn’t expect to fix everything in an instant. The Diamond citizens were struggling, but they were somewhat content. All he needed to do was pinpoint the shortcomings and figure out how to fix it. And for now, he had his parents to guide him through it.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Of course I do. I think about it sometimes, all the responsibilities. I’ll have to choose a wife at some point, someone who’s capable of being a queen. I’ll have to be a good example for my little brother. I have to be a good king eventually. But I’ve lived a good few years to learn about how things work, and I know that when the time comes for me to step up, I’ll be ready. Even if I’m not, I will be. Y’know?”

"You speak as though you're that much older than me," George said, cracking a smile.

"Is that _teasing_ I hear? Why, I suggest you start respecting your elders, Georgie boy," Wilbur quipped back with feign offence, drawing a laugh from him.

"Of course, _Prince Soot_ , my apologies."

"Y’know, only my friends call me by my middle name like that."

George's smile faded slightly and he examined Wilbur's face to decide if he was joking or not and see if he had overstepped there. He couldn't tell.

"You didn't correct me," the younger one noted.

"I didn't."

Another comfortable silence fell over them as they adjusted to the weight of a new label. A weight that was comforting, like resting a chin on one's head or shoulder, or a hand placed over one's own. 'Friends'.

The air was crisper in autumn. Perhaps a result of the red and fiery orange leaves littering the paths. Usually, once winter rolls around, the air feels smoother - biting and cold, but hushed. But now, George appreciated how it felt filling his lungs, dragging out each exhale like a cigar by the fireplace.

"How's yours coming along?" Wilbur asked quietly.

Their conversations were soft and tentative, both careful not to ruin the peacefulness of the moment. Goerge finished another careful stroke of his brush before speaking.

"It's alright. Not the most accurate since I'm going by memory, but it's coming together."

He received a hum in response, either in agreement or acknowledgement The curly haired prince glanced over at George every now and then. When they caught eyes, George offered a small smile, which Wilbur returned.

"Are you finally going to tell me what you're painting?"

"You'll see it soon enough. I'm almost done, anyway," Wilbur chided with a click of his tongue.

Another few moments passed.

"You know, it’s always nice visiting."

"Why's that? You've only been here a handful of times, if even."

"It's peaceful here. Just feels…. Nice."

"It's not because I'm here?"

"I didn't want to flatter you, but I guess I've been backed into a corner here," Wilbur retorted, causing George to laugh. "But really, it's probably because there’s a lot less going on here. It’s less hectic. It’s just calmer, I reckon. Unless Tommy’s in the room.”

"I guess this is where I admit I feel the same. It’s nice when you come over. It's nice to have someone who I can talk to about things like this without feeling ungrateful or pompous or whatever. You're easy to trust. Your heart suits the kingdom, Wilbur - Solid gold.”

“Well, I’m glad you think so. Y'know, you’re always welcome to visit us in Gold. It’s especially lovely in the winter.”

“I appreciate that. I’ll take you up on that someday.”

Wilbur finally placed his brush into the little cup, leaning back to admire his work. He ran his fingers along the section of the painting that he’d done early on, having mostly dried by now. He made a noise of approval, looking over at George.

“It appears I’m done. Just in time, too. I think it’s almost time for supper.”

“Probably. I hear Tommy finishing up in the field, he must be coming back for food,” George pointed out, and they shared a laugh.

“Sounds like Tommy, alright.”

George set his brush in his own holder, smiling at his own handiwork. A creek, with a gentle river flowing. The proportions were slightly unrealistic, but it appeared stylistic enough to be passable. The moss on the rocks was the most impressive, looking slippery and perfectly textured. The light filtering through the leaves reflected across the water, highlighting the ripples in it.

“That is breathtaking,” Wilbur noted, looking at it in awe. George barely heard him slide his chair over to look.

“Thank you. I used to go there with Sapnap when I was younger. A cosy nook, untouched by anyone but us. Well, we probably weren't the first ones there, but it was nice to pretend.”

“I like that. It’s personal, it feels calm. Fitting of a place in Diamond.”

“Now yours, come on. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

Wilbur smiled, standing up and walking to his own canvas. George carefully lifted his seat back and walked around to be able to view the masterpiece.

“Alright, alright. Take a gander. Tell me what you think.”

George felt the air punched out of his lungs, and his jaw dropped.

It was him. A portrait of George with a relaxed, thoughtful expression on his face. Atop his head sat the silver diadem he donned, except it was littered with gems of different colours. The pink in his cheeks were so faint, yet noticeable, and the tunic he had on had been replaced with a more formal costume.

The most striking part of the painting was how recognisable it was without being hyper realistic. You could still see where each stroke starts and stops, and George was understandably in awe.

"Wilbur…"

"It's for you. I wasn't going to carry it home, anyway, and it would probably find a more fitting home here with the muse."

Wilbur had begun putting the oil paints away as he explained. George struggled to find the words to say. So much thought and effort into a work inspired by himself, and it was his to keep and remember.

"Thank you. I really do love it, I'll treasure it for as long as I live," George promised, eyes crinkling as he smiled.

And with that, they silently headed to the dining hall together, the warmth of a finally blooming friendship draped over them like a blanket tethering them together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took quicker than expected tbh, I was prepared for 2 week intervals. Starting a novel around the beginning of a semester might not have been the smartest on my part.
> 
> But this is a bit of a shorter chapter, do forgive me! I'll try to see if I can make the next one longer. Again, feedback is much appreciated, every single comment makes me excited haha


	3. Sitting Pretty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George receives a few letters, and one from someone he did(n't) want to hear from, to which Sapnap has to assure him that this isn't a downwards slope into being some sort of trophy husband.

The chill of the early breeze gnawed at his shoulders once again when he woke up. Rubbing at his bare chest, he squinted at the sun that filtered through the slit in the white and silver curtains. It was his usual waking hours, but as the mornings got colder, he found himself more and more reluctant to leave the warmth and safety of his silken covers. Still, he managed to drag himself out, slipping on a tunic and shirt to make his way downstairs.

"It appears your presence at the ball was well-received," George's mother said with a smile when he sat down for breakfast two mornings after his ‘royal debut’.

The king and queen sat at the dining table, enjoying the scrumptious meal that was laid out. In the centre of the dining table sat a platter of toast and eggs. A servant was tidying up in the kitchen, the hushed flow of the tap distantly audible, but it was rather peaceful. The tall windows were enough to light up the room, saving them candles that they would usually use in the more hidden parts of the castle. The blue tablecloth had just been washed, George could tell from how bright the silver in the tassels and trims were.

As usual, his parents were reading the letters they had received. This happens often after they attend large events; a day would be spent writing procedural letters to show good relations, and the day after would be when they were delivered. Most were returns from the royals they had mingled with at the ball, no doubt filled with empty pleasantries and false promises to visit and ‘keep in touch’. (Clearly disingenuous, since other than the Watsons of Gold, they hadn't had an actual visitor in years.) But something was definitely different this time around, evident by the gleam in his father's eye when he glanced up from one of the handfuls of letters laid out on the table.

The young man lit up instantly at the praise, curiously looking between his parents to figure out why they seemed so chirpy. Had a queen mentioned him in their letter? Perhaps the first impression that he sought to frame himself in was set in stone, impactful enough to warrant a feature. He had just woken up minutes prior, barely having much time to freshen up before heading down, but the promise of good news definitely had him awake and alert.

"Why's that?" He asked, reaching for his coffee.

"You have a few letters addressed to  _ you _ specifically, written by kings and queens," his father said with a proud smile, sliding a few wax-sealed letters his way. “You’ve been quite the topic of conversation in some of the letters we received, as well.”

George picked one of them up, the envelope that was an orange-tinted shade, and ran his finger along the grains of the deep red wax. The signature stamp of redstone, with its deliberately fragmented lines circling a small ruby in the centre of where the metal had pressed into the drying lacquer. It was dripping with sophistication, regality, professionalism, and it made the reality of his role as a successor feel all the more present on his shoulders. Yet, it didn't feel like a burden.

Carefully prying open the envelope, he began to read.

_ Prince George Henry Davidson II, _

_ What an honour it was to meet you on the evening of Emerald's Royal Ball. _

_ It's lovely to see a prince who can hold his own at his first ball, especially from a humble country such as your own. I must say, your debut was a rather surprising one, but the energy I picked up from being in your presence was impressive, to say the least. A well-read man indeed. _

_ You were speaking with the Prince of Gold, I noticed. I do hope your impression of me isn’t painted one way or another, Wilbur and I have a complicated relationship. He is a lovely young lad, but I know he doesn’t think the best of me. I do hope this won’t be a crease in our relations moving forward. _

_ I write to say I look forward to seeing you again. With how hurried you were to meet everyone, I feel we didn't get the chance to discuss literary works further. I hear diorite is looking to host a gathering in the Spring. Let's speak then? _

_ Best regards, _

_ King Eret Alastair Earl-Lockhart. _

  
  


The neat signature on the bottom tied the letter together neatly, and George folded it with a smile. His father looked back at him expectantly over his cup of coffee, and George gave him a subtle nod - a silent assurance that it was  _ very _ good news. He looked at the second envelope in front of him, one made of a pale, light grey paper.

“The young messenger boy who sent the second one said the king had written it for your eyes only," his father stated, though his tone was noticeably more tentative this time.

The stamp of Emerald was carefully etched into the seal, who's wax formed a perfect circle. Whoever sealed it had done so with a steady and calculated hand, pouring just the right amount that it didn't spill over or leave behind the usual bloated ring around the design. A lot of care was put into this one. And knowing who had written it made both his stomach sink and flutter all at the same time.

His parents seemed just and cautious, though George could assume that it wasn't for the same reasons.

"I… suppose I'll read this in my quarters later, in that case"

His father gave a nod, and they continued their meal.

“Philza sent a letter too,” the Queen noted, setting her tea down.

“King Watson! Lovely, what did he say?” George asked, leaning forward in his seat attentively.

“You can call him Phil, don’t worry,” his father mumbled with a teasing grin. He had finished his fourth slice of toast by now, and was pretty content.

“Philza. Right, I know, but it feels strange not including his title.”

“I could call you Prince Davidson, if it suits you better.”

“Dad, please don’t-,” George pleaded with a laugh before his mother shushed him.

“Boys,” his mother scolded light-heartedly, “Enough bickering, save it for lessons later. As I was saying, Phil just wanted to say that Wilbur would like you to visit next week.”

George lit up once again at the mention of his friend. It had only been two days, but he didn’t get a chance to speak to him before he left. The Golds had left a little early, due to the youngest son’s restlessness tiring him out quicker than most. He made a mental note to thank him again, and ask him if he ever asked that girl for a dance.

“Of course. Wilbur was a great help, I’d love to see him again soon.”

“He is a lovely young lad. That painting he did for you was absolutely fantastic. He really is talented,” she added, smiling appreciatively at the servant who refilled her tea for her.

George set his cup down, a quiet  _ No, thank you _ as he was offered a top-up as well.

“I should see to reading the letter by Emerald,” he trailed off, picking up the still-sealed envelope.

The King gave a curt nod, dismissing him from the table. He departed without another word, both dreading and itching to read it.

* * *

_ Dear Prince George Henry Davidson II, _

_ Congratulations! I heard many wonderful things about you among the nobles. For your first event, your performance was impressive. Even Andesite had good things to say, and you know how… difficult they can be to please. _

_ It really is a shame that our time together was cut short. I never had the chance to introduce myself properly. Being only a nation or two apart, I recognise the importance of a harmonious relationship between us. Although I admit, a man as sweet as yourself may be influencing my desire to get to know you more than our geographical distance. _

_ And I would love to get to know you, George. You’re captivating, and those few minutes we shared were far more riveting than the rest of the evening. You intrigue me. _

_ I would like to invite you to Emerald once again. Come see what our garden looks like uncovered from the blanket of the night. I believe you’ll find it to be all the more enchanting. You are also welcome to stay till morning - I know the journey must be too exhausting to endure twice in a single day. A guest room is always ready for you. By the morning you receive this, dinner would already be in the making. I do hope you will do me the pleasure of sharing it with you. _

_ I look forward to either your word, or your presence. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Dream _

_ Emerald _

* * *

“Oh come on. He seems lovely!” Nick said hopefully, nudging him gently.

He leaned over George's shoulder to continue reading the letter. The prince at his desk, and when his advisor heard of the letter, he came just in time to watch the aftermath of it. He stood behind the seated prince as he read through the ‘offensive’ sheet in front of him.

“Lovely? This letter is  _ oozing _ pretentiousness! You can feel the  _ superiority  _ complex!”

“I think you’re overreacting,” Sapnap pointed out with an amused look on his face. “Confirmation bias to support your first impression. He even wants to get to know you.”

George let out a groan, folding the letter and shoving it in the envelope once again.

"Sap, you know who we're talking about here, right?"

"Well, yeah. King of Emerald, the one without a face."

"The one who won a war two summers ago,” George corrected, as if that was a piece of information that had been withheld from Sapnap.

He almost expected surprise, some sort of epiphany from him maybe. Unfortunately for George, as an Advisor, it was literally part of Sapnap’s job to know external matters, so the epiphany never came.

"A war that he didn't start, nor did he wish to continue."

"Whatever! Bottom line is, he's scary, and cocky, and I don't like him."

George had his arms crossed childishly; A side of him only Sapnap had the misfortune of seeing. (He wasn’t about to let his poise facade fall in front of just  _ anybody. _ ) The prince didn't look up at Nick, who had leaned his calloused hands on the smaller man’s shoulders at this point.

"Gogy, you know that Clayton-"

"Dream," he interrupted quietly.

Nick paused.

"Huh?"

"He said his name was Dream. He prefers that."

Nick furrowed his brows in confusion. He ducked his head down to lean beside George again, taking a brief glance. His suspicions were confirmed, as he caught sight of the pink tint in his cheeks.

Sapnap had only seen his friend blush like that a handful of times, and one of those times was when he had first gotten home from the ball and was talking about how it went. The prince was animated, telling his experiences with certain aristocrats. When he had shared about meeting the host, he explained what happened but he seemed embarrassed about it, which he had initially brushed off as embarrassment from being undermined, but now he knew better.

In an effort to not embarrass his friend further, he didn’t mention it, but he took note.

“You know that Dream and his kingdom are rich. Filthy rich, isn’t that what you wanted to do when you went to the ball? Connections in high places?”

George knew Sapnap was right. He knew that Emerald was a  _ fantastic  _ ally, and he was  _ absolutely _ punching much farther than he had expected. But he wasn’t convinced that it was the right thing to do. Wouldn’t it be downplaying his entire nation if he was willing to comply with a stranger just because he had money? Wouldn’t that make him seem powerless?

Sapnap pushed himself to stand upright again, George groaning at the press in his shoulders. He heard shuffling as his friend walked across the room. He looked over his shoulder curiously. “Sap, what are you doing?” He asked, watching the man look through his closet.

He didn’t respond. Instead, as a few moments passed, he returned from the closet with a familiar suit in hand, hung from a hanger, and laid it on the bed gently. George felt guilt set in and he took a look at the blue costume from two nights ago. The diamond was still sitting in the middle, brilliant as ever. George stood up from his seat to move closer and run his fingers along the shining gem, remembering the little child that looked up at him with bright, innocent eyes. He chewed on his lip gently, contemplating the perspective he was viewing the situation with. Perhaps it was selfish of him to deny the opportunity.

"Listen, as your advisor? I'm sorry you have to go through this, but I think it's for the best. Emerald is a strong ally to have, so I urge you to  _ try _ to see where this goes, for the kingdom."

"And as my friend?" He mumbled.

"As your friend, I think you need to suck it up and give him a chance. I've never seen you blush as hard as you did talking about the balcony that night. What have you got to lose?"

The prince was silent for a moment, thinking over that option. The bed creaked quietly under him as he sat down. He hesitated, thinking through his thoughts before replying with a croak.

"My dignity?"

"George," the advisor chastised.

"No, I'm serious!" He insisted, taking a pleading tone. "What does he want from me? What if I go there and he expects something of me?"

"Then you have a carriage downstairs to take you home."

"Sap, I don't want to go there just to be a pretty face at the table," he said quietly, brows furrowed.

Sapnap slowly sat down next to him and rested his hand on George's shoulder sympathetically. He could only imagine what it was like to be a trophy piece, or to be patronized in such a way. But George was jumping to conclusions, without substantial evidence that Dream was just that shallow. He wanted to get to know George, after all.

"You're too cool of a dude for anyone to overlook, no matter how much of a hot piece of ass you are," Sapnap consoled, ruffling his hair to make the prince's face scrunch up in displeasure and amusement.

* * *

Techno growled as he pushed himself up off the ground, charging at Dream with a cry. He wasn’t as tall as the blonde, but he was much broader, thicker with muscle and flesh. He dodged two swings of the man’s sword before making an attack. He swung the axe towards the metal chestpiece, intending to knock him back. However, with a cunning step to the side, Dream managed to evade it.

“Nice try,” Dream rasped out through his teeth as the pig-masked man lurched forward with momentum, the provocation fueling his opponent’s determination.

Techno swung around before Dream could take advantage of his blindspot. He body-slammed the taller man, and Dream was caught off guard this time. The clatter of metal could be heard as he was flung a few steps back. The wind was knocked out of him, and he let out a groan. For a moment, Techno thought he had the upper hand. He was standing in front of Dream, who was winded and on the ground. The space between them closed quickly as the man charged at his stunned opponent, and Techno used this opportunity to raise his axe once again, his centre of gravity shifted back as he prepared to strike.

Dream used this opportunity to swipe his foot under the pink-haired opponent’s leg, causing him to tumble to the ground with a clatter and thump. Swiftly, Dream sprung onto his feet, standing over Techno. He pointed his sword at him for a moment, smirking at him. The smile etched into the bone mask was taunting.

“Two for two,” he said, dropping the wooden sword on the ground and offering his hand to the man.

Techno took it gratefully, letting himself be hoisted back onto his feet. He brushed off the dirt that was on his trousers, now having a better understanding of

“That one was a draw, I don’t know what you’re on about,” Techno retorted playfully, tossing the wooden practice axe to the side to take a sip from his flask of water.

He redid the end of his braid, seeing as it had loosened up slightly. Dream tipped his mask up a little as he drank from his own, the tip of his nose barely visible while still hiding his upper features. Techno noticed some small freckles dotting it, before catching himself and looking away to respect his privacy.

“Sure thing,” Dream hummed out, wiping his mouth with the back of his gripping gloves before picking his sword up again. “Round three?” He asked with a grin, although he was still panting slightly.

“You sure you don’t need a break, pipsqueak?” Techno asked, readjusting his own mask. He was catching his breath as well.

“Not a chance,” Dream said, the end of his statement being cut off as he charged again.

Techno acted quickly to grab his practice axe and tuck out of the way before the wood came crashing down where his shoulder would have been. Without a hitch, the clashing of wood and metal began again.

Niki watched them from the bench, smiling softly. Her and Tubbo were far enough not to hear their conversation, but had to stay present and alert in case they needed anything. Although her eyes followed them, her mind was elsewhere. She seemed to be daydreaming a lot today, Tubbo noticed. He had just gotten back, yet her change in behaviour struck him almost immediately. He didn’t bring it up the first hour they were together, but it was getting a little much. The small boy nudged her gently, snapping her out of it. She looked down at him with a hum of confusion, which he mimicked back teasingly.

“Where are you?” Tubbo asked, carefully working on the little piece of wood he had been carving. It hadn’t taken shape yet, and he had been hacking at it for a few days now, but it kept him busy.

“Thinking,” the newly pink-haired girl admitted quietly. (They had spoken about it before. _“It’s not gold anymore!” “Yes, that’s how dye works,” she laughed._ )

“Well, go on, then. What are you thinking about?” Tubbo urged with a smile, glancing up at her and pausing his whittling.

“I finally met Prince Wilbur that day at the ball,” she began hesitantly, looking down at her hands and fiddling with her fingers shyly. “I am a strong woman, but that man makes me weak.”

Tubbo gasped, immediately reacting to the new information by bouncing in his seat. While Niki blushed, she laughed at his predictable response.   
  
“Niki has a crush! Niki has a crush!” He chanted as she shushed him quickly, the scarlet in her cheeks deepening in shade. She was beyond relieved that Dream and Techno were too engrossed in combat to hear.

“Tubbo! Stop that,” she mumbled, grabbing the child and clamping a hand over his mouth, which made him laugh harder.

“You do, though,” he insisted between her fingers, though heeding her wishes and lowering his volume. His tone was just as excited though, and it came out as sort of a whisper-yell.

“I… I guess. I don’t know yet how I feel,” she said, withdrawing her hands.

“Wilbur’s so nice, Tommy talks about him all the time. What did you two talk about at the ball?” he asked, sitting up again and fixing his hair.

“He bumped into me, and I heard his voice for the first time,” Tubbo squealed, but she continued anyway, “and I told him that his voice was like the sunset. Later that evening, he asked me to dance.”

Tubbo so badly wanted to ask a million questions, but he kept quiet, letting her share what she wanted to share.

“We hit it off. Joking as though we’d known each other for years. Then he invited me to visit and I just couldn’t.”

Her hands dropped to her lap, expression softening to a sadder one. She had clearly been thinking about this for a while. This confused the younger boy.

“You couldn’t?”

“I have duties to uphold in Obsidian. Where Techno goes, I go. Unless he decides to take a visit to Gold, I won’t get the chance to see him.”

"Not even for a day? Surely you can have a day off."

"Not even for a day. And Techno encourages it, but there's just too much for me to do. Nobody knows the system like I do."

Her lips sat in a thin line, her brows slightly furrowed and staring down a stray blade of grass on the ground as though it had wronged her. She started slipping back into the daydream state she was in before. Tubbo had to nudge her again just so he wouldn't lose her.

“Have you spoken to Techno about him?” Tubbo asked when she looked back over to him, breaking the tense silence.

“No…”   


“You should,” he said with a smile.

“I don’t know-”

“You know how Techno and Philza are. They're tight! They're bros! Tommy tells me all the time. I think it's worth a try."

"Tubbo, I have responsibilities. I can't compromise them for a boy."

"But you really like him, don't you?"

Niki bit her lip for a moment as she thought the question through.

"I do. More than the sun."

Tubbo let out a little laugh, his face scrunching up slightly. He continued his whittling, and her gaze lifted to watch the two men in the distance spar again.

"But you really like the sun," he said playfully, his childish nature poking through, making her crack a smile.

"Exactly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tsundere George let's GO
> 
> I hope this one's okay! It's like 4am but I needed to get this out before bed, so please let me know what you think!


	4. What A Mess You’ve Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And as George’s eyes flickered down to the plump pinks, he blinked a few times, stepping back from the man who was spinning him, sending him reeling for more and clawing for less.

The wild autumn flowers were closing up in the fields. The hues of pinks and purples that once littered the terrain were giving way to the green grass they once overshadowed. As George sat alone in the carriage, he had a lot of time to think about what Sapnap had told him. Perhaps he was too rash to decide on the type of person King Dream was. _Was he being unfair?_

It was a difficult situation to navigate, and an unprecedented one at that. When he had spoken to his parents before, they didn’t have any experience to properly advise him. He didn’t mention the specifics of the letter, but he did let them know that he was very forward. Despite his mother’s hesitance to expose him to the Emeralds so early, she seemed pleased to know that Dream had a good impression of her son. She seemed to side with Sapnap, while his father was a tad bit more protective.

_“Honey, this is good!”_

_“We barely know the man, Is he really fit to court my boy?”_

_“Court-? Dad, you’re looking way too far ahead!” George’s cheeks were scarlet pink as he spoke._

_“Can you blame me? You’re my son.”_

Needless to say, it was once again up to him to make a decision. And that’s how he found himself miles from home, the gentle rocking of the carriage doing little to soothe his worries. The words of his loved ones were swimming through his head, but he tried to focus his attention on the sound of hooves against dirt. He watched the way his knee bounced with every pebble on the road. _Bump. Bump._ The plush red seat was comfortable, but not even the finest foam or feather fillings could make the time sitting in the same spot more bearable, or ease the burden of the crown laying over his head.

Obsidian was easy to pass through this time, almost expecting him even. The guard barely asked a few questions before letting the carriage proceed. It was surprising, but as he arrived at the pearly gates of Emerald, he realised why.

An unfamiliar carriage embellished with familiar colours sat at the front of the castle. The coachman was perched on the front, which meant that the visitor had just arrived or was scheduled to leave rather soon. From a distance, George could hear a clatter of metal and wood, and he could make a guess as to what was going on. As his own carriage came to a stop and he stepped out carefully, the guards greeted him with a slight bow. He was slightly taken aback by this, and he wasn’t sure whether this was common practice or not. He took a mental note to ask his parents more about formalities during these visits.

As he approached the grand entrance, he saw through the gaps in the hedges off to the side that shielded the field. A clatter of armour sounded in the air as a blur of pink and silver slammed into the ground with a distant grunt. Squinting, he noticed a foot press onto the chest plate, and a hooded individual had a wooden blade raised in the air in triumph.

Nobody stopped him as he approached the walls of greenery, following along it until he found an opening a few steps ahead. The moment he emerged from the cover of the hedges, heads turned to snap to him. The hooded figure, who he now noticed donned a white mask, had a hand extended to the ground. In one smooth motion, the pinkette, who he now recognised as King Technoblade himself, was lifted from the ground, his free hand readjusting the hog piece covering his eyes. Both kings stared at George for a few moments from their positions in the field.

Before George could say a word, Tubbo got up from his bench, and whatever he was working on before was left forgotten in Niki's lap in a hurry.

"Prince George! His Royal Highness, please, let me show you inside," said the young boy, whom George had never met, with a warm smile on his face.

He followed the boy back through the hedges on the other side of the field, glancing over his shoulder to see Dream looking back at him, gaze lingering on the smaller man. The king seemed as though he wanted to approach, but Techno punched his shoulder lightly, drawing his attention away from him. The young servant boy guided him inside, up a flight or two of stairs to a sitting area he hadn’t seen before. It was on the other end of the castle to the ballroom.

“My deepest apologies, I should have been out waiting for you so you wouldn’t have to wander on your own,” the boy, who George now knew as Tubbo, spoke apologetically.

“No, please, it wasn’t a problem. I did arrive earlier than expected, you hold no blame.”

A cup of tea was placed in his hand once he had taken a seat, which he sipped slowly. He was left to his own devices soon after. The room was large, with tall windows, similar to the dining room back at home. However, in place of the grand tables and chairs, there was a plush white sofa with golden ridges lining the armrest. It faced the fireplace, where a painting of some mountains hung. It was lovely, and almost familiar. George had never seen such a view, yet he almost felt like he had. It was strange. Regardless, he didn't look too hard.

By the windows, a few round tables crafted from a dark, rich oak were placed, each bracketed by two armchairs of a similar style to the main sofa. That's where George sat that afternoon, a few rays of sunlight casting lines on his face and the saucer placed neatly on the table before him.

It had barely been two minutes before Dream came strolling by the room, a towel over his shoulders. He had removed his hooded top and was left with a form-fitting black inner piece with long sleeves. The collar wrapped up his neck slightly, stopping about halfway. The king saw George sitting there out of the corner of his eye and did a double-take, stepping towards the room.

Dream leaned against the doorframe, offering a smile to the prince. He was still for a moment and George knew that if it weren’t for the white mask, he’d see the glint of mischief and smugness behind the tall man’s gaze. George felt a lump in his throat. Even without a face, the man had a draw to him.

"I'm really sorry to keep you waiting, my dear prince," he spoke while unravelling the black protective bandages from around and between his knuckles, "I didn't expect you here so early. I’m really glad to see you here today. But I'm afraid I'll have to leave you alone for a little longer while I get changed. Is that okay?"

The prince gave a small nod, after catching himself frozen for a moment too long.

"Of course, take your time."

"Don't miss me too much."

With that, Dream pushed off the doorframe with his foot, disappearing back into the hallways, presumably for a shower.

He hears a mumble of conversation, before a figure appears by the door yet again. This time, though, it was the man he hadn't formally met yet. The self-made king himself, Technoblade, rapping on the frame with his knuckles. The prince moved to stand up immediately.

"May I come in?" The deep voice asked, catching George off guard.

"This isn't my castle, but your company's more than welcome." 

This drew a deep chuckle from the large figure. Had it not been for the scene he caught before, he would have thought that Techno was taller than Dream, even. They exchanged a firm handshake, the hulking man towering over him and making him feel tiny, vulnerable. Though despite not being able to see the man's eyes, his company felt inviting. This probably had something to do with their mutual friends, bringing about a sense of kinship. Nonetheless, George accepted the presence wholeheartedly.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Prince George. I've heard many stories. Philza's been talking about his visit to Diamond."

"He's a great man. I've heard stories as well, I didn't expect to meet the leader of Obsidian today after passing through your nation. It truly is an honour to be in your presence."

"Glad to hear it. A friend of Gold is a friend of mine. Sorry you had to see that before, it got a little heated."

"So I noticed. It's quite alright, we'll surely meet again. I wasn't aware you were such good friends with Emerald."

Techno let out a fond laugh as his friend was mentioned.

"Dream's alright. Bit in over his head, but the aura works well for him. Unfortunately, I should be on my way, but I hope we'll get to have a real chat someday soon."

The masked man took a step back, brushing his hair out of his face. The braid was coming loose again.

"Before you go, if I may ask," George began, a playful smile on his face, "Who won?"

Techno paused in his pivot, surprised by the question, but cracking a smile.

"Let's just say we both won in different ways," Techno said with an unreadable tone.

"Oh?"

"He got me on the ground more, sure, but I had him sweating. A fantastic fighter, really, one of the best. But he needed to be knocked down a peg gently enough that it didn't wound him."

Techno had begun a slow walk to the door, speaking over his shoulder every now and then. And while this would usually be a sign of disrespect, George felt comfortable in the loose formalities.

"So you let him win?"

"I wouldn't say that. Rather… winning wasn't my main objective."

George hummed in contemplation, sitting back down in the white armchair and swirling the translucent liquid with his teaspoon.

"Fair enough. Until next time, then."

Techno left without a word, leaving him alone with his thoughts once again. The quiet hum of the wind justling the windows, or the rustling of the bushes beyond filled the silence, and George tried his best to tune those out. Unfortunately, the thoughts swimming in his head were too loud.

The interaction with the men left him far more anxious than he had been before. Perhaps it really hit him then that he was going to be spending the next _day_ with the man. The fact that he had no idea what was in store worried him. He barely knew Dream. And while he knew that the man wouldn't do anything to hurt him, he wasn't quite sure what his intentions were.

He saw it going two ways.

One, he treated George with a complete lack of respect, without acknowledging anything about him apart from superficial attributes. In which case, George goes looking for his coachman to take him home. (George had hoped this was the case, so he could leave before the discomfort of a strangers company got unbearable)

Or two, Dream is tolerable. He corrects the image of himself that George had framed in his head. He shows himself to be a nice person, he and George grow a genuine friendship from then on and George leaves the next day with his dignity intact.

These were the two options George had laid out, but if he was being honest with himself, he knew there were a million other ways this could go down. So many nuances, alternative pathways that he was trying so hard to keep his brain from exploring. Realistically, the likelihood of either of the two occurring was rather low. If he kept thinking about it, he was gonna do his head in. So instead, he focused on picking apart the two options he had chosen, not realising his scalding grip on the teacup until a muscle jerk caused a bit to spill over the edge, dripping along the walls and onto his finger.

“Ah..!”

He was quick to put the cup down, grabbing the napkin on the table and wiping his hand dry. The gentle cloth soothed the faint stinging. It really wasn’t that hot, but the sensation helped snap him out of his thoughts.

It wasn’t long before another silhouette appeared at the door. Still holding onto the cloth, George looked up with wide eyes. Dream approached him, now dressed much more relaxed than before. His hair was just dried, making it look lighter and softer than before. Instead of the damp clusters before, it was fluffy and George definitely did not want to know how it felt between his fingers. Atop it sat his crown, gold and lined with green Emeralds of various sizes.

He wore a loose silken top this time, the top button loose and the sleeves rolled up carefully to the elbows, white and tucked into his black trousers. He was already a good head taller than the prince, but the way the fabric clung to his legs accentuated their length. With a simple and graceful bow, Dream greeted George properly.

"My prince. I'm sorry I kept you waiting," he spoke, before stepping closer. Instead of taking a seat, though, his eyes drifted down to the napkin in his hands, no judgement nor concern in his voice. "Are you alright?"

"I just spilt a bit of the tea, but I'm fine," George assured, looking down at it as well.

His breath hitched when he felt large hands wrap over his, gently removing the cloth and examining his hands carefully. Dream let out a soft 'tsk' as he made sure they were fine. Luckily, there wasn't a mark. The slight redness was already fading. The king ran his thumb along his fingers gingerly, causing George to blush at the sensation. All thoughts left his head for that moment, and he made a conscious decision not to look up at the blonde's face, not knowing what he'd reveal with his own eyes, what emotions he had yet to unpack himself.

"How clumsy. That's alright, doll, I'm glad it wasn't that hot," he said gently, taking note of the lacking eye contact. He withdrew his hands and took a seat in front of George, who's dazed look was giving way for his regular demeanour.

"Just a slight bit. None of it spilt on the couch or tabletop, not to worry."

"That's not why I'd be worried. Can't have you hurting yourself in my castle, now, can we?" Dream stated, leaning forward and resting his hands on the table attentively, fingers interlocked.

"I appreciate the concern. I'm not fragile, though," George reminded him with a polite smile.

"Of course not. But even the most beautiful of gems can be scratched, right?"

The implication of that statement sent another blush to his cheeks. _Beautiful_. He wondered if Dream saw him as any more than that.

"Not a diamond, though," George countered, glancing up at the man with the charming smile he learnt to put up. "I'll be fine."

"I don't doubt that. How was the journey here? Not too boring, I'd hope."

The blonde propped his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his palm as he looked at George. His other hand was resting, extended on the table, his fingers gently drumming the pattern on the centre. George collected himself and glanced up, catching himself unsure where to look. Where he would usually go back and forth between eyes, all there was was a blank mask with an empty smile.

"It was pretty arduous. Travelling alone especially. The carriage gets a little suffocating sometimes," George admitted, glancing down at his cup.

"I'm sure. I get antsy even visiting Obsidian. I don’t leave Emerald very often, so I must say I appreciate you coming all this way.”

A few responses sat on the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back, offering a tight, calculated smile.

"Of course."

A servant came by as a silence fell over them. Dream sat up again. A platter of pastries was set down, along with a cup for Dream. George’s cup was refilled and he thanked them politely. When they were left alone again, George was the first to speak up.

"Do you spar often?” He asked, eyes flickering to the blank smile briefly.

“I didn’t, actually. It’s hard to find someone who won’t hold back. Until I met Techno, and now we practice pretty often. He’s fun, and we almost match in skillset,” Dream spoke with a grin, glancing out the window. “Almost. Do you fight?”

George let out a soft laugh, remembering King Alastair’s words from nights ago.

_“I heard that Diamond’s King is a weak man. Please don’t take offence to this, I ask out of concern. But he has taught you how to fight, right?_

He shook his head, more to rid himself of the words than as a response to the question.

“No, I don’t. I’ve learnt basic self-defence skills, but I avoid offensive techniques,”

Dream hummed, picking up a pastry and examining the thin powder of sugar on the surface. He considered which angle to approach it, before taking a bite. George felt Dream’s gaze on him as he waited for the king to swallow.

“And so the diamond remains polished. That’s a completely valid way of going about things, I think you’re gonna be a great leader,” he complimented, “Diamond has a knack for staying out of trouble. I almost envy that.”

“I suppose there are perks to it,” he agreed, biting his tongue. Dream noticed, sensing that he was holding something back.

“But?”

George was taken aback by this. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be honest. Having his thoughts made known could be dangerous. What would Dream do knowing his fears? He didn’t even _like_ the man, why would he tell him anything? Yet, his mouth moved before his brain did.

‘People look down on us. Underestimate us. Underestimate _me_.”

The king seemed pleased by this response. He smiled slightly, which made George’s heart sink. In the split second after spilling this piece of information, his mind raced. _Is he going to laugh? Make fun of the prince? Or maybe use it against him, demean him further in subtle ways?_

“Then they’d be fools. They’re not looking close enough. Anyone who spends even a minute with you should be able to see your spark. Your drive to be good. And that should be terrifying.” George was stunned, so he continued. ”You know to take advantage of that. ‘Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak’.”

_Huh,_ the prince thought. _That’s not how I thought this was going to go._

George grabbed a pastry, staring at it, then out the window, then at Dream’s mask.

“Thank you,” was all he knew to say.

“So what do you do for fun, then?”

George got into talking about things he enjoyed. Easy, common things. Painting, going for walks, spending time with his parents. Surprisingly, Dream did more asking than sharing, with his chin resting on his palm and body leaned forward attentively. George pretended not to notice, his legs crossed. And suddenly, a speck of powdered sugar on the tabletop appeared to be the most interesting thing in the room, which was a shame when the king of Emerald sat across from him.

* * *

They were back on the balcony. The sun had yet to set, so this time, Dream had brought George to the seat they were in before. He held open the sliding glass doors for the prince, watching as he ran his fingers along the roses lining the barriers. The darkness of the night had made it difficult for him to admire them the other night. They shimmered way more than he had expected. While the moonlight had given them a more ethereal glow, the sunlight revealed their earthly beauty

“It does look different in the day,” George spoke.

As he was busy lifting the buds slightly to see the golden stems hidden beneath, Dream had plucked one that was nearer to the door, and he was picking off the little thorns. His careful fingers ran over them, ensuring the thoroughness. When George turned around and the king held out the rose, it felt like deja vu. With careful hands, George took it, saying a quiet breath of thanks. The king took another step closer, causing the shorter of the two to freeze once again. _We’ve been here before,_ his subconscious yelled, almost screamed at him. And still, he found himself letting himself go.

The king took a step forward until their chests were inches apart, brushing a strand of brown hair from his forehead. His hidden eyes scanned over George’s face, and his calloused fingers brushing along his cheeks. He didn’t know where to look. Was he supposed to stare into the void circles etched into the white disc? His gaze flickered to his lips briefly. Dream knew his dilemma. He had spoken to Techno about this before, the brute complaining he didn’t know where to look when they faced.

“It’s alright, George,” Dream said quietly, the name rolling off his tongue like he owned it, _and god did he wish he owned it_ , “You can look, darlin’.”

A smile curved on his lips, liquid and delicious, the mask hiding the crinkles by his eyes. And as George’s eyes flickered down to the plump pinks, he blinked a few times, stepping back from the man who was spinning him, sending him reeling for more and clawing for less. Dream instantly stepped back when he sensed that the prince wanted distance. WIth the rose in his hand, he blinked a few times more.

“I’m… I should go rest before dinner. The ride here took more of a toll on me than I thought,” he lied, flashing a polite smile that hid his inner conflict. Dream saw through this, and while disappointed that George was putting his fake princely face back on, he respected him enough to not bring it up. He kept his distance (both physically and emotionally) for the time being.

“Of course. I’ll show you to your quarters,” the king said with a polite bow, his tone matching in formality.

And George was left with his thoughts again, this time in a pristine room that wasn’t his own and a body that betrayed him. He stared at the foreign ceiling, white and gold reminding him of home, but light green accents embedded in them reminding him of where he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took more than a week but I worked really hard on this one! I can't wait to share this story with you all, there's so much in store. Also, thank you for 1k hits!! I'm actually stunned, I didn't expect people to like it this much! I'll keep doing my best :D Your comments really, genuinely keep me inspired
> 
> What do you like about the story so far? What do you think's going to happen?


	5. Told You So (Listen, next time)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I was right about you, you are an intriguing individual and I want nothing more than to listen to more of your thoughts.'

Dinner was a blur of formalities. Sitting on opposite ends of the table, Dream wasn’t quite close enough to the brunette to have an effect on him. George could keep his composure, deflect any excessive complimenting. While the conversation flowed, the vague air of superficiality was ever-present, with how George had his walls up again, making sure the king stayed on the other end of that wall and out of his head. The steak was lovely, though.

When Dream walked him back to his room the final time that night, George didn't have much time to overthink the day's events. He was out like a light.

But when he woke up the next day to the sun barely peeking through the curtains, he rubbed his eyes gently and laid in bed far longer than he usually had the luxury of doing. The morning brought a fresh set of eyes to the memories he held. The gentle tones, the curious questions asked over pastries and tea, and how all that was put to an end when George was back in that balcony. How desperately he tried to unravel himself from between Dream's fingers where he was spun like a quill. He wasn't sure what to make of it.

Should he have given it a bit more time? Dream was earnest in his conversation. Even over dinner, when George sat guarded and alert, with a sharp tongue and ever-present crown, the king had respected his walls. Made no attempt to tear them down forcefully, or prod with questions he didn't wish to answer. Dream kept the conversation surface-level.

Surely, he thought, this was a calculated move. Perhaps he was bored of George already. Being more or less rejected twice probably didn't do too well for his ego. Any wise individual would cut their losses there and move on to find other suitors to romance. For some reason, though, the thought of Dream moving on from him so quickly brought about a feeling he couldn't quite describe or explain. His stomach was tense and his heart making its presence known through slow, steady thumping.

But when there was a gentle knock on his door and a cart of breakfast brought to his room, he was left without answers once again. The servant, whom he had never met before, greeted him with a bow and informed him that the King would be waiting in the library for the rest of the morning until he was ready to see him.

He sat in the room with the cart of food. The sweet maple scent hit his senses the moment he lifted the metal cover. Tucking into the pancakes, he halted mid-bite when he felt something squish between his teeth and the familiar burst of a blueberry met his taste buds. It tasted like home.

Had the king put in that much thought or had it been a coincidence? He couldn't recall an opportunity for Dream to find out about his favourite fruit. As he wracked his brain deeper, however, he vaguely remembered that amidst the superficial, trivial conversation they had over dinner, he might have maybe mentioned his distaste of specific fruits. Had he mentioned berries?

Goerge cursed his weak memory. Regardless, when he was done eating and getting dressed, he prepared himself to face the man again. Navigating the hallways, he found the door which appeared to be more carefully crafted than the others.

He rapped on it gently with his knuckles before stepping in, his walls lowered.

Dream sat on a dark wood chair, with a velvet seat that was a rich shade of red. His legs were draped over the armrest, and a hand held open a book as the other arm was hidden behind the backrest which he had laid it over. The mask that initially rested by his side had just been pulled over his eyes when he heard the knock.

George caught sight of Dream's more casual kingswear, with a dark green tunic hanging loosely over his collarbones and tucked into a similar pair of black trousers from the day before. The outfit was comfortable, but the quality of cloth and tailoring was a clear indicator of his status, along with the ring of jewels atop his head. This time, though, the sleeves were left unrolled, possibly because of the particularly chilly morning. Dream was ready to shift from his position to one less casual when George raised his hand, palm out. He nodded slowly, looking back down at his book.

"Good morning. I hope you slept well," Dream spoke with a neutral tone, one that walked the line of formal and friendly. George took a seat on the couch nearby, looking at the burning wood in the fireplace.

"I did. The room was to my liking, and the birds are a bit louder here. It was nice to wake up to."

This was a start. He spoke not as Prince Davidson, but as George. Even Dream seemed pleasantly surprised by this, glancing over at the man who didn't meet his eyes.

"That's good, I'm glad you're comfortable. They're set to migrate further north soon, though, which is a shame."

George let out a hum of agreement, leaning back into the plush seat and enjoying the warmth emanating from the fire. It pricked his skin nicely.

"I don't remember if I properly thanked you for dinner. Or breakfast. Did you eat yours here?"

"I did. I wanted to enjoy the fireplace for a bit, and this is where I spend quite a bit of time anyway."

"Surely you weren't reading the whole morning," George poked lightly, with no malice intended or received. Dream laughed quietly.

"You caught me. I learn best through actions, not words on a page," he explained, carefully putting the book down on the table. "I tried to make an exception today."

"Why is that?" Asked the prince, glancing over at the masked man briefly.

"I didn't want to have you wandering the halls again, or have you see me in a field."

Dream stared at the fireplace at well, the two watching the embers glide through the air and dissipate mere seconds later. The pattern repeats.

A fair decision. Seeing Dream's ferocity in battle was an eye-opening experience. He was a capable king, and the way he maneuvered a sword made him seem equally as adept as a warrior. Being on the receiving end of that battle would be terrifying, the thought alone reminding the prince how important neutrality was for his country. Still, something about the way he moved, weaved gracefully and striked with calculated, forceful hits was almost impossible to look away from. George convinced himself it was the skill that attracted his attention.

"I should be on my way home soon."

Dream nodded, lifting himself from the chair carefully.

"Please allow me to show you to the stables."

* * *

“You have another letter.”

George lit up at Sapnap’s voice, turning around to face him. The advisor walked into the room, setting the envelope on the table. Catching a glimpse of a familiar green wax seal, his face dropped and he let out a groan.

“Before you say anything or even open it, you need to come with me,” Sapnap informed matter of factly, making George tilt his head in curiosity. He had a smug look in his eyes, but given the situation, George could guess that this was not one of their usual outings.

“What, is there anything more important than a letter from Emerald?” George mused, grabbing the coat that his advisor had finally convinced him to begin wearing.

“Of course. A _gift_ from Emerald,” the advisor said with a grin, walking out of the prince’s room before he could hear a response.

George jerked in his stride, an involuntary response that was both unpredicted and unwanted. God, he hated the way the faceless man could cause such a visceral reaction, even as he sat in his throne a few kilometres away. The way he blushed, the way he froze, the way his heart stuttered, all due to someone just _mentioning_ the king. Nay, mentioning anything _related_ to the king.

Perhaps it was the element of this being something new that Dream did. It caught him off guard, and not many people do that to meticulous George. The prince usually had scenarios planned out to the T, he could gauge how interactions could turn out and he analyzed every outcome. The king just subverted that. As the prince began to rationalize, it wasn’t Dream that made him react in such a manner, it was his actions which George found trouble reading and finding reasons behind.

But that obviously didn’t bode well for the future. They’d only had a meal together after all. George knew nothing about him, and that fact in itself made reading Dream damn near impossible. He didn’t know what his goals were, what his intentions were with doing things.

Was he going to react like this every time?

“Your Highness?”

“Right, sorry,” George mumbled, catching himself and following in stride behind his advisor.

He didn’t know what to expect. But when he stepped through the foyer to see a familiar young brunette boy, George’s eyes furrowed in confusion. Sap had mentioned a gift, not a guest. Upon seeing the two, Tubbo bowed respectfully, stepping forward.

“Prince George, your highness,” the boy greeted, eyes crinkling as he smiled.

“Tubbo? Pleasure to see you again. What are you doing here?” George failed to contain the confusion in his voice, but the servant boy did not seem phased by it. He walked towards the grand doors, George following along behind.

“I was instructed to walk you, specifically, through the contents of the carriage. It is quite a sizeable amount, and the lovely king and queen of Diamond agreed to entrust you with this.”

George was more confused. What could it be such that it needed his parents to approve? Surely it couldn’t be anything bad. Stepping outside and seeing the carriage covered, items pushing against the inside of the sheet walls and the outline of a few wooden pallets and crates. When they circled it to see the uncovered back, George’s jaw nearly fell open in shock. Tubbo climbed onto the back of the wagon, resting a hand gently on each crate.

“Three cartons of potatoes, four of bread, these two are preserved cheeses, one of smoked beef,” the boy went on, checking the cartons to make sure he was pointing them out accurately. He counted a total of ten crates, all packed to the brim with goods, both perishables and non-perishables.

"I'm speechless… This… This is all from King Dream?"

The boy's smile was radiant and eager.

"Each one was checked personally by him," he said happily, hopping out of the wagon with a quiet thump. He began unloading the cartons, to which the guards nearby stepped in to help.

"I'll be sure to send a letter back soon. This is far more than we could ever ask for. And I extend my thanks to you, especially, setting out so early in the morning to get here on time. Please, let me get my coin pouch."

A bashful blush bloomed on the young man's face, and he let out a polite laugh with his hands raised.

"Your highness, there's really no need."

"I insist. You were so welcoming and helpful yesterday as well, I simply must."

"Please, Prince George. Money isn't an issue for me, honestly. My wages are more than sufficient to provide for me and my parents on their own. Dream takes care of his own, and I have no reason to lie about that. But I sincerely thank you for the offer, you truly are a generous soul," Tubbo spoke, beaming with pride and pure, innocent contentment.

The prince was surprised by two things.

First, it was the informal way he referenced the king he worked for. Speaking to someone of royal blood, Tubbo was more than aware of manners when referring to the prince he was with. Yet, while sticking to formalities when in reference to George and his crown, Tubbo was less careful with mentioning King Dream. The title was dropped so openly. George wondered if this was a norm for servants of Dream, or if it was a careless sign of disrespect. From how highly he spoke of his leader, though, George was pretty sure the latter was not the case.

Secondly, his refusal to accept the tip. Sure, he knew very well that Emerald was a well-off nation, and he would assume the servants were paid a decent amount, but to hear that Tubbo provided for his family with only his income was astonishing. A part of him assumed Dream was one to uphold the class divide to an extent. A harsh assumption, sure, but with the traditions of his predecessors, it was easy to make that connection. Besides, George's perception of Dream was skewed to a more self-centric one anyway. The interaction with the servant boy changed that, though. He considered his next words carefully.

"Regardless, your effort is much appreciated," George decided. "I hope the journey through Gold and Obsidian proved easy at the break of dawn."

"Oh, it was lovely, the meadows are especially dewy around sunrise! Dream allowed me the afternoon off upon delivery, so I'll have the opportunity to visit Prince Tommy in Gold after I take my leave."

"Is that so? That's lovely, I hope you keep him out of trouble," the prince teased lightly as his guards unloaded the last of the crates.

"Try as I might, that's a near impossible task," Tubbo said with a laugh, the two slowly making their way to the front of the wagon with the horses. "I almost forgot, there's one more thing I was asked to hand you personally!"

George raised his eyebrows as Tubbo reached into the compartment of the coachman's seat. From it, he drew a familiar rose on a golden stem, each thorn meticulously picked off in a fashion that he recognised. A wet piece of cotton was tied to the bottom, likely to keep it from wilting along the way. He carefully took it from the boy, examining it carefully.

"That's… interesting. Thank you, again."

"Of course. It was lovely talking to you, but I won't take up any more of your time. Prince Tommy's probably expecting me within the hour, anyway."

"It was nice chatting with you, too. Have a safe journey. I'll likely be over in the evening to talk to Prince Wilbur, hopefully I catch you before you leave."

As George turned to return to his room, he passed Sapnap in the foyer, his friend holding a smug look on his face that spoke the words that didn't need to be uttered.

'I told you so.'

The words were uttered anyway.

* * *

_Dear Prince George,_

_Thank you for visiting. Your company was a pleasure, though I would have loved to have gotten to know you better. I’d like to apologise once again for keeping you waiting. I hadn’t expected such an early arrival and honestly, Technoblade and I lost track of time. Keeping a pretty prince wandering for so long was improper of me._

_I hope you enjoyed the glimpse of the flowers on the balcony. We left in quite a hurry, so I thought I'd send you one to enjoy on your own terms, in your own time. It should stay bloomed for a few days before wilting, if you wished to keep it for that long. The Dust of Emerald has been sprinkled in the cotton, so it should have sufficient nutrients for a while, so long as the wrapping remains intact._

_Along with this letter, I’ve sent a gift. Our harvests were especially bountiful, with more than needed for the winter. I hope you find use for it so it doesn’t go to waste._

_Perhaps I should show you around properly the next time you visit. The gardens beyond the fields, the forest, the stream running through it. I don’t often appreciate those little things, but since you were here, I find myself thinking about other beautiful sights for you to blend into. I think you’d especially like the river. I was right about you, you are an intriguing individual and I want nothing more than to listen to more of your thoughts._

_Until we meet again, my Prince._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Dream :)_

* * *

"I'm so glad you finally came to visit," Wilbur greeted with a broad smile, arms outstretched as the shorter prince arrived. Through the embrace, George rested his head against the other's shoulder.

"As am I. Oh, do I have lots to tell you."

They made their way to Wilbur's study, where two small canvases were prepared. George hadn't visited to paint, per se, but it was a comfortable task to keep their eyes and hands busy as they painted each other with shades of trust and honesty. Wilbur spoke first.

"I haven't spoken to Lady Niki yet. She sent me a letter this morning, but it seemed distant and formal," he said forlornly, brushing a tuft of hair from his eyes. George's heart went out to him.

"What did she say?"

The golden boy bit his lip gently as he applied an especially gentle stroke of paint across his canvas.

"She told me her priorities lay in her duties. Explained how vital her role is in upholding Obsidian's administrations and logistics. She truly is a headstrong woman."

"I'm sorry to hear that," George said gently, dipping his brush in the cup and drying it off with the cloth on the easel.

"It didn't sound like a rejection though, is the thing. She never mentioned that she wanted to stop speaking to me, or that the attraction isn't mutual. I don't know what to make of it." The prince carefully dotted a frayed brush on his work, adding light texture to a particular area. "I know when to read signals and social cues to avoid influencing people's choices with unneeded pressure. I've dealt with that before."

George hummed, unsure what to say.

"I wish I had any advice that could give you, but I'm just as unsure as you are," he said gently.

Wilbur paused his work, cleaning off his brush so the paint wouldn't dry on it. He looked over at George with a grateful smile, the younger prince looking back at him with a gentle smile back.

"I know. I appreciate the listening ear, I didn't expect you to fix my issues for me." Playfully, Wilbur brushed a clean, wet brush on George's hand. A jarring move for a prince, but a welcomed one from a friend. George let out an amused chuckle as he wiped the wetness from his knuckle. "So, little diamond, you said you had lots to tell me. Go on, then."

George's brush swirled in blue, yellow and white as he tried to find the colour he was searching for. He thought about what to bring up first.

"My first letter was from someone you're supposedly not too fond of," he brought up, causing Wilbur to tilt his head curiously. When recollection clicked in his mind, he nodded, taking a sip of his tea.

"Alastair."

"Yeah. He was just saying hello, saying he regretted how brief our conversation was."

"Probably for the best," Wilbur remarked, causing a light chuckle from George. So rarely had he ever seen a hint of negativity from the taller brunette.

"Care to tell me what that's about?"

"Look, I don't hate the man," Wilbur began, having to set his mug down as his gestures became slightly more animated. "He tries his best, and I'm sure he does. And I know he likely acts without malice. That being said, we do tend to butt heads at meetings. We share opinions on what _should_ be done, but he's more of a big picture kind of guy and I disagree with how he does things sometimes."

"Like when you mentioned how he might 'test' me the first time we speak?"

"Exactly that. How did the conversation go? I saw you when we were getting ready to leave," Wilbur said as he picked up his brush again.

"Well, you were right. He said something rather rude but I think I said something he liked to hear. All was amicable from then on."

"That's what I mean. His way of doing things are simply more, for lack of a better term, selfish. He needed to know what to make of you, find out who you are. But in doing so, he pressed a few buttons, crossed some boundaries that would otherwise be a breach of trust. He's done that one too many times with me, and I didn't stand for that."

George nodded slowly as he took in the information. He wasn't sure how he felt there, because although he himself harboured no lingering feelings from the conversation, what Wilbur said was true. It was disrespectful and he could have obtained information with more tact.

"I'll keep that in mind for future interactions. For now, though, I'd say we're on good terms."

"And I'm happy for you. Honest. You've sowed the seeds for positive interactions in the future with the impressions you left," Wilbur said earnestly, not a hint of distaste at his choice of allies. Despite his personal feelings, George was thankful that his friend wanted the best for him.

“I met with Techno the other day, as well.”

“I heard! Tubbo was telling us about your visit to Emerald. He said you spent the night there as well. I didn’t know you and the King were close.”

“We’re not,” George interjected quickly. “You left before I got to tell you. I mentioned in the letter that we spoke at the ball. I never got to tell you about the visit.”

“I recall you saying he was interesting. Now’s as good a time as any.”

George faltered mid-stroke, settling on mixing paints again as he pondered his words.

“Between us, he’s… interesting,”

“So you’ve mentioned,” Wilbur snorted.

“Sorry, I don’t know how else to put it,” George said with a pout, a flush on his cheeks. He was more eloquent than this.

“We’ve got time.”

“He’s cocky,” George decided to start with. “He thinks highly of himself, and I don’t know how to read him from that.”

“Yeah, the mask doesn’t help,” Wilbur agreed, urging him to continue.

“Exactly. And he calls me pretty. I don’t know how genuine he is. He says these sweet words, and sometimes I freeze when I’m around him and it’s as though he has me under some sort of spell when he stands too close. And it’s _infuriating_ because I don’t know if he _wants_ something from me, because he definitely isn’t just being nice for the sake of it because I’m new to the whole ‘being a prince’ thing.”

Wilbur had begun to wash his brushes, eyes trained on George and his averted eyes as he spoke. His brows furrowed in focus as he noticed how much this was affecting his friend.

“Does he do anything to make you uncomfortable?” Wilbur asked with a steady voice, treading lightly.

“No? I don’t think uncomfortable’s the right word. I just… I don’t think I could ever put it to words in a way that makes sense. I just don’t know. He’s being very generous, I’m sure Tubbo mentioned why he was passing through. Maybe I’m just too suspicious of him.”

“I think you should always trust your gut,” the prince before him spoke, tidying up his set of paints. “But I think you should take some time to listen to what it’s actually telling you. It sounds like you’re second guessing a lot, and that might be making it hard to really, properly listen.”

George stared at his work for a while, his lip between his teeth and his brows furrowed as he let Wilbur’s words sink in. The light green curtains with the Emerald’s sunrise casting rays of light across the guest room carpet stared back at him, almost mocking him. And he sat wondering why of all subjects, he decided to paint that view in particular.

“That’s actually pretty useful. I’ll keep that in mind,” he said quietly, finally meeting Wilbur’s eyes. “Thanks, Prince Soot.”

“Anytime, Prince Henry.”

George’s face scrunched up and he let out a laugh.

“That one doesn’t work.”

Before he left later that evening, he caught a glimpse of the piece Wilbur had been working on. A portrait of a familiar blonde woman was the subject, face half-covered in sheer white pieces of fabrics, folding at just the right angles. The blue eyes stood out distinctly amongst the white cloths. The artist definitely felt strongly for his muse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer one this time! Sorry it took longer than usual, but I feel like this one was worth the wait :D Really proud of how this one turned out. I've been loving the comments so far, they're so very thoughtful and I can't wait to hear what you think of this chapter. Enjoy!! <3


	6. Legends Speak of Fish and Fae Alike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream came looking for an angel, but instead found himself in an emotionally compromising situation.
> 
> "You're cocky, my dear king, but you're not stupid."

_Dear King Clayton Alexander III,_

_It would be our pleasure to have you over. Our son has told us so much about the beauties within your walls, and we thank you for giving him the opportunity and experience. With that, perhaps it's about time for him to show you the beauties Diamond has to offer. So we wholeheartedly accept your proposal to visit._

_We would love to have a word with you privately, as well. We appreciate your courteous consideration of us as his parents, but in the future, rest assured that you need not come through us for permission. Prince George is more than capable of organizing visitations, especially for friends of his own._

_Regardless, we look forward to future letters, and to your arrival._

_Best Regards,_

_King and Queen Davidson of Diamond._

* * *

George woke up that morning completely unaware that he would be seeing Dream again after only a week.

He was having a relatively good day, too. He climbed out of bed with the quiet sounds of birds chirping in the distance. New soaps had been refilled in the bathroom he used, and the sweet citrusy scents filled his nose as he sunk deeper into the little pool of bubbles.

He sat at breakfast with a smile, not knowing any better. The idle chit chat with his parents over pancakes made it feel like any other day. And it was supposed to be, until his parents dropped the news of Dream joining them for lunch that afternoon, causing George to nearly sputter on his food. Though they apologised for the last-minute announcement, they quickly continued on to tell him that he was to show the king around the country.

Needless to say, the prince wasn't too keen on this idea.

That's how he ended up in his room, pacing feverishly and making wild gestures while his friend and advisor, Sapnap, watched in dismay.

"George."

"They could have _told_ me! I know this is their castle, they make the decisions, but they could have told me he was coming!"

" _George_."

"They could have given me a heads up, they _know_ how I feel about him! They know what I'm worried about, and bringing him _here_ of all places. Sapnap, they always tell me when we're expecting company, I'm not _ready_ to-"

"George!" Sapnap held onto George's shoulders, causing him to stop his frantic pacing. The shorter boy looked up at him, wide-eyed, hands still trembling. He wrapped his arms around the prince in a warm embrace, and it seemed to calm him down a bit.

"It's okay. It's just Dream, and you're in your own country this time. You're home," he said gently, rubbing his back in a soothing motion, which prompted the prince to wrap his arms feebly around his torso. His breaths mellowed down from its frantic pace to a slow one, albeit still shaky.

"I'll be fine," he stated, though it came out as more of a question.

"You'll be fine," Sapnap agreed. The prince carefully pulled away and sat on his linen sheets, staring out the window to the clouds he could see in the distance. His friend took a seat beside him, the weight of the bed dipping beside him keeping him tethered from going off again.

"Why is he even coming?" He asked, fidgeting with his fingers.

"I don't really know. The meeting with the senior advisory committee last night barely brushed over it at all. They only said the king and queen wanted to talk to him."

"You knew?" George asked, looking over at his friend with a dramatic look.

"I was going to tell you, but I only found you after breakfast. I think I was supposed to keep it from you anyway, though. They knew you wouldn’t have given him a chance."

George sighed, falling back on the bed with a faint thump. They were probably right. He stared up at the white ceiling, his once-organized thoughts beginning to jumble again.

Over the past week, George had sent a reply to Dream thanking him for the supplies. He received one back with the same sentiments as before, talking about how he looked forward to seeing George again. That was a few days ago, giving the prince ample time to let his thoughts settle into deciding whether or not he hated the man. He didn't. He simply didn't trust him yet.

George also had plenty of time to think about what Wilbur had advised him to do. Listen to his gut. But despite the week to think about it, he still had no answer for that. He still wasn't sure which thoughts were his instincts, triggered by subtle signals his brain had picked up without him consciously realising, and which thoughts were interferences of his anxiety and preconceived notions of who he thought Dream was. A fearsome leader who became king at 19 and won a war at age 20. A man who could potentially have an agenda.

He wasn't sure which thoughts to trust.

But now Dream was arriving any minute and he had no clue what to do or where to take him.

Until he remembered a place without fear or foes.

* * *

"King Clayton. It's lovely to finally meet you under less formal circumstances," the queen said with a warm smile when the blonde man sat on the other end of the table. "You're just on time, lunch will be prepared in about half an hour."

"Your highness, please. Just 'Dream' is fine," he said, returning with a charming smile of his own. Tea was served to him in a fine ceramic cup and saucer set, which he delicately sipped.

He was dressed nicely. Not as well he did at the ball, but he definitely chose a nice shirt, and the muted green cape coat he had hanging by the door was embellished with white fur along the shoulders. Now he sat with his legs crossed, leaned back casually and ring-adorned fingers gently tapping on the plush backrest which he had his arm leaning over.

"King Dream it is. How was your journey here?" King Davidson asked, prompting Dream to break out a grin.

"It was fine, actually. It's been a while since I've gotten on my horse. I had the chance to make a stop in Obsidian for breakfast as well, the food they have is delightful."

"Your horse? You rode here horseback?" King Davidson asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. "That must have been an especially tiring feat."

Dream hummed in consideration.

"Not really. I train for stamina often, and it's more calming to feel and hear the wind," he explained. "Does Prince George go for rides often?"

"He used to when he was younger. Young lad had a knack for sneaking off to the stables. He hasn't for a while though, as far as I know," the queen explained. "Perhaps you could suggest it when you two head out later on."

Dream smiled, looking down in a way that hid his face. The thought of riding into town with the prince seemed exciting. What he would give to see the neat straight hair pushed around by the wind, his small frame mounted on a horse that was probably way too big for him, and his slender fingers gripping the reigns. Maybe the cold winds would make his cheeks flush a pretty colour, or he would stumble from lack of practice and let out an embarrassed laugh.

"I'd like that. That could be fun," he agreed, reaching for another sip of his tea.

"George tried to hide it from us, but a maid told us of the rose he had tucked by the window. A stem of gold, meaning it was likely from somewhere further north. Do you happen to know where that came from?" King Davidson teased lightly, causing a very faint blush to rise to the young man's cheeks. He hid it by tilting his head down slightly once again.

"That would be me. A gift from the castle. I hope it hasn't wilted yet."

"Care to share why you're sending roses to my son?" King Davidson asked, though his tone showed no threatening intent. A knowing smile was on his face.

“Your son is charming, I will admit to having grown a liking to him, despite his apprehension. I was hoping to speak to you two about that today, out of respect.”

“I appreciate your honesty. It’s nice to see him mingling with others more often, and we appreciate you keeping him company. Why don’t you tell us more about yourself?”

"Of course, though you probably already know a lot about me. I hope the reputation of Emerald has sustained enough to quell worries of your son having to settle for someone who can't take care of him." Dream grinned slightly, looking back up at the king and queen sitting across from him. The queen's brows raised in surprise at his unabashed confidence. "I was raised under strict training and when my father passed, I took the crown at age 19. I value mutual respect and honesty, and I hope my actions will reflect that over time."

"We hope so too," the queen said with a smile, impressed so far. "If that's the case, may we ask how long you've been wearing the mask for?"

Dream's tapping stuttered, and he sat up a little straighter. He cleared his throat before speaking again, keeping a steady voice.

"I suppose I expected questions about that. It's a valid cause to be concerned, not having seen the face of the man hoping to win the heart of your son. I'll share what I can at this point," he spoke, glancing out the window for a moment.

"Of course. Nothing you're not comfortable with yet," the warm voice of Queen Davidson spoke gently.

"I've donned the mask since I was 17, when I began attending events with my father. It was an act of rebellion at the time, my father was not too fond of me having it on. Our relationship wasn't the best, and I wanted to prove to him that my decisions should be my own, especially when it harmed nobody," he let out a soft, unamused laugh. "And when he passed, I decided that it was best for me to remain faceless to the public. By then, I found a few more reasons to justify that. Only those I regard as close friends and family can meet my eyes, and when I show them, they understand why."

King Davidson leaned back, brows furrowed slightly and head tilted to the side. He hadn't expected such honesty from a man who seemed so guarded from the outside. The younger king shared more than was asked, answering questions that he and his wife had lingering on the back of their minds.

"Thank you for sharing. We appreciate the honesty," he said, analyzing the man's body language. Dream's shoulders lifted slightly and dropped, which he understood as a silent sigh.

"Of course. I want to prove my integrity. And should Prince George feel the same for me in the future, I would be honoured to have your approval."

"It's definitely something to discuss further when the time comes, but do know that we see you as a confident, capable man. I think I speak for my husband as well when I say that you seem to be a charismatic young man who knows how to guide a nation and an army."

Dream grinned, mood lightening up from the more solemn one before.

"Thank you, your highness. I had hoped so."

"May I ask another question?" King Davidson asked, taking a sip of his own tea. Dream nodded earnestly.

"You're more than welcome to. I will answer it to the best of my ability."

"The situation with you and Blackstone," he began, voice taking a more serious tone. "There was some debate surrounding what happened and we want clarification from you personally."

"The war. Of course."

"Can you tell us what really happened?"

Dream's brows furrowed under his mask, and his jaw tensed. The memories from two years before flashed through his mind. The aggressive letters back and forth addressed to the king of Blackstone. The dirty tactics to breach his kingdom. He suppressed his rage, not wanting to lose composure in front of the parents of the man he wanted to court.

"King Alexis Quinn II had sent a few letters claiming I needed to surrender my country. He had no leverage apart from his sizable yet less-skilled army. The letters escalated quickly, and he arrived at our shores with soldiers. We had evacuated locals living in the area, expecting such an attack. Our soldiers fought them off, and I sent a troop through to his as well in an attempt to get him to retreat, and eventually it worked."

"There was no meeting?" King Davidson asked, a little skeptical. Dream let out a soft laugh.

"None. He asked me to see him in his castle, but from the dirty tricks he used in the skirmish, I knew it would be a trap. King Alex is a foolish man to think I would fall for such a thing."

"I'm glad to hear that you weren't the instigator of the war, but a victim of yet another one of Nether's attempts at expansion."

"Well, I wouldn't call myself the victim," he said with a grin. "Emerald was pretty much unscathed."

This drew a laugh from the king and queen. They seemed pleased by this response, making Dream bloom with pride.

“Of course. The king underestimated you and you showed him what you were capable of. That must have been quite a hit to the ego,” the queen noted, drawing a hum of agreement from the masked man.

“Oh, absolutely. He was livid. Nearly begged me to come to his castle or at least make the journey to their continent. How humiliating to lose to a man who didn't even need to step foot out of his castle to win the battle.”

The king and queen nodded and chimed their agreements. The queen glanced to the side, where a servant was signalling her. She placed her tea on the table and cleared her throat gently before speaking.

“Well, it looks like lunch is ready. Shall we continue at the dining table?”

* * *

Dream's coat was draped over his shoulders, matching well with the crown resting atop his perfectly waved hair. The chill in the air was oddly inviting, making him want to roam the roads of Diamond for countless hours and let the sweet, crisp air caress his face properly. If only he had a moment alone while wandering, in an area left alone by other humans. Maybe eventually he'll get the chance to take his mask off and let the wind tickle his eyelashes, feel snowflakes or droplets of its rain to fall upon his face. He would take anything their angels would have to offer.

But for now, the presence of the angel next to him would suffice.

They were trotting slowly along a more remote dirt path, winding through the trees. As they rode deeper, the dirt road grew sparse and gave way to clusters of wild grass, a sign of lack of use. Dream knew that they were heading to a river, but he never got clarification on how long their short journey would take. Of course, he dared not complain. Glancing over to his right and seeing the brunette with a faraway look in his eyes made him never want to leave the forest.

The only sounds apart from that of quiet hooves against dirt was the unseen crickets and ruffling of leaves, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

"It doesn't seem like people come out here often," Dream noted absentmindedly when he decided he wanted to hear George's voice again.

"I suppose not. It's off bounds to the public, since this section of the forest is sacred," the angel replied, sounding distracted. Although his body was there next to him, Dream knew that his mind was elsewhere.

"Sacred?" Dream asked curiously. Surely he wouldn't be entrusted to walk through a nation's holy land on his very first visit.

"Well, not quite," George corrected. His tone shifted as he was brought back out of his head. "It's spiritual in its own right. Some legends claim that fae reside in these forests, and the cod in the river nearby are quoted to have gold scales. It's really just a sentimental place for the Davidsons. Generations after generations, we've felt connected to this place. I for one just think it's pretty."

"I'd have to agree with you there. You fit right in," Dream said with a small grin. His heart warmed when he saw the pink bloom in the younger man's cheeks. When he noticed that the prince wasn't going to respond to that, he probed another question.

"Do you believe the legends? The magic?"

George seemed to think about that one, his gaze straight ahead lowering as he considered the question. He let out a contemplative hum.

"I think there are some things we just won't know until we see it. Rather than a question of whether or not people believe in fairytales, it might be more productive to consider why these stories exist."

"I would say it gives people hope," Dream suggested. "The belief that there is something higher than them, and there are beings that humanity can never fully comprehend."

"Maybe there are beings that can never comprehend _us_ ," George countered. "Maybe we're nothing but stories to them."

"If so, why would they hide?"

"Maybe those stories aren't any good."

A tense silence washed over them as the weight of those words sunk in.

"Humanity can be cruel," the King agreed. "Ruthless, greedy."

"It's not all bad."

"I suppose not. But we were born sinful, right? Flawed. It's in our nature to give in to our impulses. Eat, breed, sleep. We're _taught_ to control these impulses. We're _nurtured_ to be good, but by nature, we are terrible."

The sound of a gentle stream in the distance was suddenly made apparent as they fell back into another few moments of silence. George took the lead forward, guiding them through a narrow path between the trees until they arrived at a creek. He stopped by the edge, and Dream navigated his horse to be next to George's again.

He carefully climbed off his stallion, holding a hand out for George to help him down. He revelled in the way the blush returned to the brunette's cheeks. He accepted the hand with a quiet 'thank you', his fingertips gripping the gloved palm of the king. Where the gripping gloves had been cut right above the knuckle, the brush of the taller man's fingers made his skin tingle ever so slightly.

They tied their leads to a nearby branch, Dream letting his eyes linger on the pretty man every now and then. The sunlight was diffused through the trees, casting a general glow on him, with speckled rays seeping between the leaves and leaving him blessed with bright freckles dancing across his face.

"I disagree," George finally spoke, taking a seat on a large rock that was only half-submerged in the stream. His knees were tucked to his chest as he stared at the slow stream slipping between pebbles of various sizes.

"Hm?" Dream hummed in curiosity, having lost track of the conversation. He sat next to the prince, his legs crossed. He took his gloves off, stretching his fingers after such a journey.

"I don't think humans are terrible by nature. A man can make a monster, but a monster cannot make a man. If humans were inherently rotten, I don't believe we would be able to tame that."

Dream's brows furrowed, eyes now trained on a tiny fish that was lingering at the bottom of the shallow stream. While the others of its kind swam up the stream, this one was stationary. He wondered why it wasn't like the others.

"Maybe. Or maybe you have too much faith in people."

"I'm just optimistic," the prince said gently, glancing over at Dream tentatively, searching for a response.

He wasn't, really. He was an overthinker, always tearing apart each and every decision he made until an outcome made the most sense. He was prepared for everything to go wrong all the time. But that being said, he saw the best in people. He gave King Alastair a chance, and he saw through Techno's reputation, did not fear him.

"Optimism never won me a war," Dream mused, looking over at the hopeful brown eyes and staring him down with a mask shielding his own uncertain ones.

"Hm. Did it not?"

"It was skill, planning."

George seemed to see through this.

"Maybe. But how much of that confidence was in your competence, and how much of it was in your opponent's incompetency?"

Dream’s jaw tensed slightly as his ego was squeezed. George was challenging him, yet the queasy feeling he felt wasn’t rage. His brows furrowed and he looked away, feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable under George’s gaze. Yet funnily enough, George didn’t mean to probe. He was completely unaware of the effect his words were having on the king. Something about this creek made him feel unafraid.

"Does it matter? I knew I was better than him, and I was right."

"You _hoped_ you were better than him," George corrected, reaching a hand into the water. The fish that was once still instantly rushed to his hand, going between his fingers. The once seemingly lifeless little creature was in motion, swirling with joy. Dream stared at it, stunned and disbelieving. "You're cocky, dear king, but you're not stupid. You're hopeful, and you mask that with your strengths and willpower."

And the fish that once circled George’s fingers finally followed its friends upstream.

* * *

They ended the afternoon walking around the castle. Dream had requested a short tour before he set out for home again. He was brought through the throne room, which was not often used, and he admired the various works that hung on the walls. His coat was left in the foyer, but he had left his fingerless gloves on as he hadn’t planned on staying for long. The journey back would be a long one, and he had to leave if he wanted to reach home before sunset.

Since they left the creek, things were quiet between them. Not quite tense, but neither of them really had the courage to start another conversation. While the presence of one another was still inherently enjoyable, the silence served as a reminder of the walls they both still had up.

Dream looked at a painting of George, stylistic and detailed. It was almost as beautiful as the real thing, and the style of it was distinct.

“Wilbur,” he said quietly under his breath, taking a step closer to admire each and every stroke of oil paint.

George’s eyebrows raised slightly.

“You know his work?” The brunette asked quietly, standing next to him to look up at it once again.

“I do. I have a few pieces myself,” Dream replied, a little caught off guard. He hadn’t meant for George to hear that.

“He is incredibly talented,” George stated, drawing a noise of agreement from the king.

They carried on with their stroll around the castle. From the corner of his eye, though, he spotted a familiar sight of the creek, the canvas propped up against the wall and on the floor. A soft smile rose to his lips, and he was glad to finally see an original piece of George’s art. He had recalled the prince mentioning his hobby of painting from that afternoon in Emerald. Beside it, on a much smaller canvas, the familiar splash of light green curtains with rays of sunshine casting through them greeted him warmly and, bringing with it, thoughts of George wrapped comfortably and modestly in silken blankets. He wondered what it was that prompted the prince to want to preserve the likeness of Emerald’s guest bedroom. Rather quickly, however, George had passed it and continued walking, a deliberate, silent urge for the king to move on. Dream didn’t mention the painting.

As galloped home, he thought about the trip, and how he seemed to make no progress in gaining the young prince’s favour. The prince sparked something in him, and although the quiet moments together in intimate silence made him at ease, the king couldn’t help but want more. And from the painting he caught a glimpse of, he considered that maybe a part of George did too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was really fun to write!! It's quite different from the other chapters, so I'm a little nervous about the reception, but please let me know your honest thoughts and opinions! I love any feedback <3
> 
> Also, thank you for almost 2k hits and over 150 kudos!! It's getting ridiculous, my heart is so warm. I'm beyond glad that you've all been enjoying this so far!


	7. Oh, Demigod, Your Beauty Transcends This World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Clayton-"
> 
> "Don't call me that! Stop fucking calling me that!"
> 
> -  
> In which Dream reflects on his past, present and future, and George learns to be a person before he is a prince.

"I'm gonna be king one day, I should be able to make decisions for myself!"

The 17-year-old ripped the mask from his face, glaring at the man who used to call himself a father. The clatter of its buckles sounded faintly at his ferocity.

The man before him rubbed his eyes, brows furrowed and hand clenched into a fist.

"You are the farthest thing from a king where you stand now! What kind of prince would cover his face? A coward!"

"I’m not a coward! It's not hurting anybody. My face is my own, not anybody else's,” Dream insisted, pressing down onto the desk with a glare.

"You are a prince of Emerald before you are a free man!" The king slammed his fist on the desk, to which Dream barely flinched. "Everything you _do_ or _say_ reflects on your kingdom, reflects on _me_!"

"That's _all_ you care about? Your reputation?" Dream scoffed, pushing off of the desk and taking a few steps back. His arms waved in sarcastic gestures as he spoke. "Let's see what that comprises of, shall we? The king with more enemies than he can count? The king who works _suspiciously_ close with nations of the Nether? Remind me again how a man wearing a mask is going to change a damn thing!"

"Clayton-"

Dream flung the mask against the wall as rage flared up in his chest. It hit harshly with a satisfying thump.

" _Don't_ call me that! Stop fucking _calling_ me that!"

The king ignored his interruption, not acknowledging the name he wanted to distance himself from, nor the burst of profanity. He had his own point to further.

"You don't have a _clue_ how difficult it was to build relations with the countries I do, nor do you know why I choose to do so. You know, if you weren't so young and naive, you might be able to _begin_ to understand-"

"Try me!"

"That's beside the _point!_ " The china teacup rattled as the table was slammed again. "I’m not going to sit here and let you derail the topic of conversation here, what we’re _talking_ about is your _unwillingness_ to _dress and behave_ as a man of royal blood! What would the people think, that the prince was so _ashamed_ of his features that he hid them? Who are they supposed to look to if all they see is a stupid piece of bone?"

"I'm not ashamed!"

" _I am!_ "

The silence that overtook the situation was almost more painful than the yelling. The king didn't look at all remorseful of his words, glaring at his son with more hatred than a father should ever harbour. Dream let his resolve crack, turning his back to his father and picking his mask off the floor. He put on his mask before his father could see the tears brimming his eyes. He made his way towards the door, nails digging into his palms as he contained his anger.

"I don't see how mom could have ever loved a man like you."

“I don’t need you to understand,” the man said coldly before Dream left the room, “I need you to _grow up_.”

* * *

Dream stared at himself in the mirror, his dull green eyes void of emotion as he recalled those words. His hand brushed across his cheek absentmindedly, his gaze trailing the large, horrid scar across the bridge of his nose that wasn’t there just a few years ago. It extended from under his right eye to his left cheekbone, taking on a more white colour as what was once skin was replaced with scar tissue. The freckles dotting his face were faint, since they were usually hidden from the sun. Closer to his eye, another cut had left an irreparable line on his left eyebrow, the scar tissue cutting across it and leaving behind a light, jagged line.

“A coward,” he mumbled quietly to himself, looking down at the piece of carved bone in contemplation. "Funny."

The mask meant many things. His willpower, his identity, his spite. But apart from the sentimental reasons he still wore it, he couldn't deny that its functionality in hiding his scars also played a big part in it. He wasn’t necessarily ashamed of them, but something about the torn, imperfect skin ruined the pristine image he had built for himself. It was a vulnerable feat to show people those marks that carried heavy stories.

He was King Dream of Emerald. The crown sat on his head, with gems the colour of clovers, but he didn’t feel quite as lucky. It felt like a weight on his head. He had a bitter taste in his mouth, almost forming a scowl as memories of his father surfaced in his mind. It was quiet mornings like this, though, that he usually felt the most angry.

Dream wasn’t an aggressive person in his day-to-day life. He was kind to those around him, composed by default, people didn’t often see him angry. However, when the bustle of people mellowed down and he was left alone to remember those that wronged him, the burning pit in his stomach, ever-present, became more noticeable. It was a silent, simmering kind of anger, and it very rarely boiled over more than that.

Closing his eyes, Dream took a deep breath, fingers tapping the bathroom counter in slow succession. Finally, he picked the mask up and clasped the buckle behind his head. The weight of the crown felt just a little lighter.

Dream made his way to the dining room, taking a seat. He was still somewhat lost in his head as he began to eat the breakfast laid out for him. He smiled at the servant who brought him his coffee and thanked her. An older lady who had attended to him for years, even when his mother was alive. She smiled back. Thinking about it, she probably forgot what Dream really looked like by now. He wasn't sure how that made him feel. When she returned to the kitchen, he was left alone once again.

Lucky for him, he wasn't alone for long.

Tubbo entered the dining room, oranges in hand and a wide smile on his face.

Tubbo was a sweet boy. Dream had come across him after the war. While surveying the damages by the shores, the young boy was found sitting amongst the rubble. He used to fish with his mother and they managed to build a comfortable life together, selling their catches and saving their coins. When her mother began to lose her sight, he took over, with double the workload and a third of their household income lost. With his mother and little sister safely evacuated further inland in a small home provided to them by the state, he was listening to the shore thinking about what he could do to provide for them now that the dock was gone, along with the infrastructure he needed.

Of course, Dream did what he could. He offered the boy a job; a simple one, with a salary large enough to cover for a helper to take care of his mother and sister. Since then, the boy had become somewhat of a friend to Dream, helping him and keeping him company. He could almost be a little brother, even.

So when the boy offered Dream some oranges to go with his breakfast, he couldn't help but smile.

"What's this, Tubbo?"

"I was in the market and the fruit vendor gave them to me. I thought you might like them!"

Dream motioned him closer and carefully took the oranges from him, inspecting them closer. They looked off, something about them raising alarms. He lifted them carefully and brought them to eye-level.

“Did the vendor say anything? Did they know who you were?” He asked gently, setting one down to focus fully on the other.

“No, I don’t think so. She didn’t even say hello, just… handed these to me for a trinket! It’s a decent deal,” he said with a grin.

Dream gave it a gentle squeeze, feeling it squish a little easier than it should. When he hovered it farther from his plate, he carefully dug his thumbs in it and tore it open a little. It was rotten on the inside, darkened to a colour it shouldn't be. He clicked his tongue.

"Tubbo, that lady tried to scam you,” he said, sounding slightly irked. The thought of someone tricking his young friend sparked the anger in him again. “I wouldn’t buy from her in the future, if I were you.”

Seeing the rotten insides, Tubbo’s heart sank. He quickly took them back, grabbing a napkin to wipe the juices from Dream’s fingers. The guilt bubbled up in him. Although Dream had never set unrealistic expectations on the boy nor treated him with anything less than respect and compassion, Tubbo had always wanted to please him and make him happy.

“I’m so sorry, Dream, I didn’t know-”

“Hey. It’s fine, it’s not your fault,” he said gently, taking the napkin and wiping his own hands. “You’re too nice, people take advantage of that if you’re not careful.” Once his hands were clean, Dream ruffled the boy’s hair, offering a smile. “Now, go throw these away and join me for breakfast.”

* * *

The crackling of the fireplace filled the room, and with it, a glow of bright embers was casted upon it. The thick curtains were drawn to shield the room from the sun, allowing the library to become somewhat of a nest, a place of warmth and comfort. Dream tilted his head against the armrest, legs dangling off the edge while his arm was propped up against the back cushion. He brought the cigar to his lips, taking a slow inhale and savouring the burn in his lungs before blowing the smoke straight up in the air.

On the couch adjacent to him, Techno, who was sitting up, did the same with a thick, tightly packed tobacco. In his other hand held a fine glass of wine, the deep red gently swirling with his hand. Niki was somewhere along the shelves, busying herself with tidying up the books at a leisurely pace.

"What's been going on with you?" Dream asked, interrupting the comfortable silence.

"Well," Techno began, flicking a line of ash from the tip of his cigar, "I've been over at Gold a little more than usual. Don't think I've mentioned that yet."

"Oh, yeah? What's been going on there?" Dream asked curiously, exhaling another puff of smoke. His own glass of wine was sat on the table, the man tilting his head to the side to look at his friend.

“It’s nice, always so lively.”

“Yeah, I’ve spoken to Wilbur a few times since I’ve commissioned work from him.”

“I know, he’s mentioned. Actually, speakin' of Wilbur,” Techno said with a teasing grin, glancing over his shoulder knowingly at Niki, who had her back turned to hide the deep blush on her face.

“I should go, I think Tubbo wanted help with his whittling,” Niki said quietly, excusing herself. She shot Techno a look, and he winked at her playfully, amused by her reaction. Dream pretended not to notice this exchange, sparing Niki further embarrassment.

“Knock before coming back in, yeah,” Dream chimed in, to which she responded with a quiet ‘Yes, King’ before the door closed behind her.

He stared at the door for a moment, making sure that it remained closed, before unbuckling the straps of his mask and taking it off. The warmth of the fire tickled his nose and cheeks. He placed it on his chest, closing his eyes with a soft sigh.

"Did you want me to look away?" Techno asked, eyes trained on the liquid he was swirling in his glass. The hog-faced man removed his mask fairly often around Dream, but he would often tell the king to avoid staring at his features. Techno figured he'd give Dream the respect of asking.

"No, you can look. We've known each other long enough," Dream assured, tilting his head and looking at his friend. When the masked man looked back at him, although Dream couldn't see his eyes, he knew that it was trained on his scars. He flashed his friend a lazy grin. "Only if you call me handsome, though."

Techno rolled his eyes, an amused smile on his face.

" _Oh, demigod, your beauty transcends this world_ ," Techno recited, voice dripping with sarcasm.

" _And I thank the stars that I wasn't born in the next one_ ," Dream finished.

"You never told me why that Diamond kid was here the other week," Techno reminded him.

"Ah. Well, I've had my eye on him. He's a beauty, isn't he?" Dream hummed, staring up at the ceiling. He blew smoke on the air, hoping the haze would form a picture of the angel. It didn't. He tried again anyway.

"He's well-read, I'll give him that. Polite, too," Techno agreed. "He's good friends with Wilbur, so he's mentioned."

"Yeah? I saw one of his works at Diamond's castle, we had a brief talk about that."

"You were at their castle? When?" Techno asked, a brow raised. "Didn't bother to give your old pal a visit along the way?"

"It was yesterday morning, you weren't in," Dream defended. "Where were you, anyway?"

Techno added to the cylinders of ash in the tray.

"Ah, that makes sense. Was in Gold, meeting with Philza. We've been in talks for a while now, he's been helpin' me out. From managing logistics of trade, to talking about work-life balance. He's kinda like the father I never had," the hog-masked man admitted.

"That's… cool," Dream said with his lips pressed in a thin line at the mention of a father. His gaze steeled, not that Techno noticed.

"He gave me an offer… I kinda wanted to hear your thoughts about it."

"Oh? Do tell."

Techno took a sip of his wine before leaning forward to set it down. He took his own mask off, setting it down next to his glass as he spoke.

"He said to me, 'Techno, you're like a son to me. You don't need to live alone to be a leader.' So…" he pursed his lips, crossing his legs. "So he suggested a merger, of sorts."

Dream sat up at that, alert. He looked at Techno with wide eyes. The man looked back, composed yet conflicted, brows furrowed slightly.

"He said what?"

"Dream, he offered me a home in exchange for a hollow castle. Not even, actually, he didn't want the castle _or_ the land."

"What's he playing at?" Dream asked, almost suspiciously.

"Remember when I said he felt like a father to me?"

Dream's surprise morphed to realisation. His friend looked back at him, still appearing conflicted, searching for answers in his emerald eyes.

"Something tells me this isn't a power thing."

"It's not a power thing."

"Okay, so he wants to adopt you, more or less. Or, well, take you under his wing," Dream tried to consolidate the situation, subconsciously making hand gestures to aid him. "Which would mean you moving into Gold."

"And I would be giving up Obsidian's status as an independent, sovereign nation," Techno finished, nodding along.

"That's… a difficult one," Dream admitted, setting his mask on the table and picking up his wine. He took a careful slip. "Do you know his motivations?"

"I know Phil. He suggested this because he believes it's what's best for me. Running a country on my own, no advisors that came before me, it's gonna catch up to me eventually. He said it was like I was stacking hats on my head. A crown, a general's helmet, a city planner. And even though I can carry the weight of it so far, Niki's the one making sure it keeps its balance. It's taxing on her too."

"So he wants you to move in and lead from Gold, so you can share their resources," Dream clarified, to which Techno nodded. "What would that leave Obsidian?"

"An independent state of Gold. I would have full control over Obsidian as a region still; politically, financially. I would still be regarded as the leader of Obsidian. But by name, it would fall within Gold's borders."

Dream thought about it.

"What are you afraid of?" He asked gently.

Techno sighed, picking up his mask and looking down at it. His brows remained furrowed in contemplation.

"I want to do right by my country. Dream, I fought so hard for Obsidian to be recognised. I had to hold an axe to the throat of a king. I have blood on my hands. How would the people feel if I just give that away? The soldiers fought for Obsidian to even exist."

"But it does exist."

Techno's fingers halted from where he was stroking the mask. His lips fell in a thin line. So, Dream continued.

"You fought for Obsidian, building a nation on the foundations of courage, unity and prosperity. _That's_ still there. This isn't gonna erase what you've made. And if there's more you want out of a merger or allyship, it sounds like Philza would be more than happy to re-discuss the terms. But Obsidian will still exist, and you will still be able to lead them to further heights."

Techno let out a sigh, rubbing his face. The quiet crackling of the fire filled the room again in an almost assuring way.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I'll continue looking into it," he mumbled. "Let's get back to talking about Prince George, you weren't done there."

A faint blush raised to Dream's cheeks. Techno's eyebrows raised when he saw that.

"Wait. Hold on. Is that…. A blush, I see?" Techno teased, causing Dream to let out a laugh which he echoed.

"Alright alright, don't make me put the mask back on."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Go on. Tell me about him"

Dream laid down in his seat again, legs draped over the armrest as they were before. He lit another cigar, getting comfortable and letting his mind paint a pretty picture.

"You've met him. He has kind eyes, despite the air of professionalism he keeps on. It's like he has a mask of his own. But the times I've caught him alone, I see the way it melts off. It's like I'm different with him. I want to be better when I'm with him."

Techno hums in acknowledgement, pouring himself more wine.

"Do better how?"

"I don't know. I want to make him smile, blush, laugh. I want to have everything he's willing to offer. And it's almost like he has me wrapped around his fingers, even though he's so apprehensive about me. He has my mind on a tether, it never strays from him for long."

"So what d'you like about him?"

Dream took a moment to think about how he wanted to articulate his thoughts. He took another drag of his cigar.

"He hides. In his own way, he keeps himself guarded even when it doesn't look like he does, but I notice. I think it's the glimpses through that which draws me in. The moments where the superficial, polite prince resolve breaks down and he's left wide-eyed and curious. That makes me want to know him better. Moments like that leave me absolutely breathless."

Techno watched Dream for a moment. The way he stares at the ceiling longingly, gets lost in his head. It truly was a connection that Dream believed in, and he had never seen the man behave like that before.

"That's really sweet. I didn't expect that from you," Techno said honestly, not a hint of teasing in his voice. "I hope he sees it."

"That's the thing, I don't know if he does. He doesn't trust me yet, is the thing. I wouldn't blame him, my walls are pretty high too, for the most part. Not when I'm around him, though. He has to see that," Dream said with a sigh. "He should see it."

"How's he gonna see it when he can't even meet your eyes?" Techno pointed out. Dream opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when he realised the man was right. "I see you blushin' just talkin' about him, that look in your eyes. But he doesn't have that luxury that I do right now."

"I won't hide it from him forever," Dream mumbled. "I was gonna take the mask off eventually."

"Sure, but until then, you need to show him that he can trust you."

Dream closed his eyes, tapping the ash from the end of his second cigar in the tray. He let out a soft sigh.

"I was planning to send over a gift."

"Ooh. Do tell."

"It's pretty common knowledge that Diamond isn't…. The wealthiest nation in the continent. The winter's going to be particularly harsh on them, with their stunted crops. So I was thinking of sending a carton or two of our crop nutrients."

Techno nearly dropped his cigar. The Dust of Emerald was a fertilizer of sorts, the most powerful one known to man. It kept crops alive through the seasons, stimulated growth at double its speed under optimum conditions. Emerald had _never_ shared this secret resource with any other nation, no matter how much they were willing to pay.

"The Dust? That resource has been guarded so closely by your nation for _decades_ ," Techno said in disbelief.

"I know, I know," he defended, hands raised in surrender. "But Techno, I've spoken to King and Queen Davidson. They're honest people, and I trust them. Besides, if I show George _I_ trust _him_ , he might be more inclined to believe that _I_ can be trusted."

"I don't know, that's still a dangerous game you're playin', Dream. If other nations catch wind of this, _especially Netherite-_ "

"They'll want a piece of it too. I know. That's why they won't know. I’ll keep it quiet. Only you and Tubbo would have a clue. Schlatt's been cryptic enough, since that letter he sent me after the ball. I'm not gonna risk him finding out."

Techno stared at him for a moment, scanning the scarred man’s face and reading his eyes. His brows were drawn tight in a stern manner, leaving Dream feeling scrutinized. Although he knew his friend wasn’t judging his character, he understood that this was a pretty big move to make and he recognised that Techno just wanted to make sure he was aware of the implications of said move.

"Just make sure you don't put yourself in a position where you might be left wondering if you've bought his love."

Dream looked away, staring at the fire as he processed Techno's words. After a few moments, he met his gaze again, letting out a quiet sigh.

“I’m not-... The last thing I want is to put any pressure on him. And I try my best not to. I trust his parents, but I want to know that I can trust him as well. I want to talk to him one more time before entrusting him with this,” he said quietly. “When I sent him that first letter, he didn’t need to come here. You remember last week, yeah? He came all this way. If he truly, genuinely didn’t want to be around me, he wouldn’t have come. I’m not backing him into a corner here.”

“And what if he doesn’t want to talk to you this time? Are you going to dangle it over his head?”

“Of course not,” Dream said with a scowl. “I’d send some supplies we have for them to store. I still want to help him, Techno. Even if I can’t entrust him with the Dust of Emerald, I want to help him somehow.”

Techno closed his eyes, letting out a quiet sigh. He leaned against the backrest, bringing his braid to the front.

“Alright. That’s all I wanted to know. I hope it works out, I really do,” Techno’s gruff voice sounded before he pulled another breath of smoke.

"Me too," Dream said, letting his eyes linger on his friend once more before resting his eyes again.

* * *

George was back there, on the rock, his legs crossed. The crickets were quieter now than they were the day before. In his hands, a daisy he had plucked under a tree was twirled gently. It hadn’t closed up yet, which surprised him. The delicate white petals smoothened under his thumb. Beside him, Sapnap laid back with his forearm over his eyes, shielding them from the stray rays of sunshine that hurt his eyes.

“Why haven’t we been here in a while?” The advisor asked curiously. “We used to love this place.”

“I… I don’t know,” George admitted, looking down at the water and seeing his reflection. “I guess I felt like I never needed this place. I didn’t want to use it like a crutch.”

Sapnap’s face scrunched up and he tilted his head down, nudging George gently with his foot.

“Using it as a crutch? You’re allowed to have happy places, dumbass.”

“I know that,” George snorted, amused. “I do. I guess I thought I was getting too old to be playing in the forest like a kid.”

“You say that as though this is any other forest. This is basically a massive heirloom,” Sapnap pointed out, sitting up from where he lay. He kicked his boots and socks off, before scooting closer to George and carefully dipping his feet in the crystal clear water. “In fact, I think it takes a certain maturity to really appreciate it.”

“Sap, you’re not the one with an affinity with it. You’re not bound by blood,” George said with a raised brow. He took his own boots off and followed suit, the warm water caressing his calves and the soles of his feet.

“I basically am,” he argued with a grin. “Hell, look, the creatures here love me.” A small fish swimming seemed to pause to circle Sapnap’s calf, bumping against him gently before continuing on its journey upstream.

“You’re definitely trusted,” he agreed. “But you don’t feel the pull. Y’know, sometimes, I sit here and I feel an overwhelming urge to shut down and just… listen.”

“Yeah? Listen to what?”

“The crickets. The leaves. It’s like they guide me, or something. That’s why grandad came here when he felt lost. I didn’t realise it then, but now I get it.”

Sapnap smiled softly, carefully taking the daisy from George’s hand and tucking it behind the prince’s ear.

“Take the crown off.”

“What? Why?” George asked, confused.

“It’s weighing on you. I can tell. If you wanna truly be at peace here, you gotta take it off. Just trust me on this one.”

And so George did, placing the silver diadem in Sapnap’s lap. He closed his eyes and laid back down. Sapnap was right, it felt like a million pounds had lifted off his shoulders, and he felt lighter than ever. His skin was tingling, it felt like a thousand little butterflies had landed on him and were giving him a thousand little kisses.

“Better?” Sapnap asked gently, amused.

The man hummed in response, enjoying the liberation of being George; Not Prince Davidson, just George. And the forest embraced him as he stripped his title off for just the few hours that they were there. He understood what it meant to lead as a person rather than a prince.

“Better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of was itching to write and managed to get this done in 4 days. So two posts within a week! This isn't gonna be a consistent thing, I definitely won't always have the time, so I write while I still can :p
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!! Thank you so much for all the kudos, comments, bookmarks and hits!!! The reception has been mindblowing, and I appreciate everyone who decided to give this little fic a chance :') Share it with a friend, maybe?
> 
> Let me know which bits made you react the most! The long comments especially have been warming my heart, I always get excited seeing the email that there's a new comment :D


	8. Rose-Tinted Lens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "One does not write in hyperbole if they experience emotions to the extremes, love. I view the world through a rose-tinted lens, and I create the world as I see it. It's all real to me. You're all real to me."
> 
> -  
> After a particularly intense lucid dream, George receives a letter.

_They were back at the creek again, but this time, the sun had set. It was impossible to determine what time it was, but the dark sky was littered with more stars than he had ever seen in Diamond. Swirls of faint, translucent pinks and purples painted it in a way he had never experienced before. It was like he was seeing the world through a new lens._

_Looking around, the fireflies lit the forest, and the stream his feet were dipped in was glowing a blue hue. Climbing the barks of trees, the usually green algae glowed a similar light. It was magical. A faint maple syrup smell was wafting through the air, though it didn’t appear to have a direct source._

_George looked over at the dirty blonde next to him. He had his mask sitting on the rock. As hard as he squinted, he couldn’t seem to focus on Dream’s face higher than his lips. It was a hazy blur._

_“Hi, darlin’,” his smooth voice spoke as his lips curved to a lazy smile. Dream leaned back to prop himself up on his arms, waving his legs with the flow of the river._

_George tilted his head slightly, a smile on his lips. He tried to examine his face closer, but to no avail._

_“Hi,” he responded, hands placed neatly in his lap. "We're back here."_

_"Of course. You're happy here, and I like seeing you happy."_

_A faint blush rose to his cheeks and he looked down bashfully._

_"Don't hide from me, George. I know you're blushing." There was a hint of amusement in the low voice, and it only made George blush harder._

_"I can do whatever I want, you're not the boss of me," George teased, sliding off the rock and letting the water caress his clothed shins as he took a few careful steps._

_"Exactly," Dream mumbled, following suit and wrapping his arms around the man's waist. "You can do whatever you want."_

_Even though he knew it was a dream, it still felt so real. The warmth of his chest against George's back, the breath against his neck, all making him melt in his arms. Still, despite indulging for a few more seconds, he pulled away and took another few steps to a deeper section of the creak. It was up to his knees now, verging on his lower thighs. A quiet, distant ringing in his ears made itself apparent, though it was quiet enough to tune out._

_"Surely you know the implications of that," he warned over his shoulder, watching the glowing stream sway as he moved. Dream hummed._

_"Remind me," the faceless man said gently, taking a few steps closer again._

_"You not being real is going to be more of an issue than assurance." He turned around, looking at the man's lips since it was all his eyes would let him see. "I'm going to get too caught up with you and you're gonna make me feel things that I'll think about for the rest of the day once I wake up."_

_"Well," Dream said in a quiet, breathy voice as he stepped closer and rested a hand on George's cheek. His eyelids fluttered upon contact and his hand instantly rose to hold it in place. "It looks like you've already been feeling things."_

_George hadn't noticed the water had risen to his stomach. Either the ground had dipped lower under their feet or the water had risen, but it didn't really matter, nor did George care. All he was focused on was the familiar feeling of Dream's calloused fingers pressed against his cheek and his other hand slipping down to his waist, pulling him ever so slightly closer as they waded in the water together._

_"That's not fair," George breathed out, closing his eyes._

_Dream let out a soft, amused hum._

_"It isn't. You're allowed all you could ever want, all you could ever_ dream _for with no repercussions. Such a rare occasion, some people would die to be in a fantasy like this one. And yet, you choose not to indulge."_

_"All I could ever dream for, huh?" George said with a soft laugh. "Don't flatter yourself."_

_"So tell me I'm wrong." Dream leaned in close. His eyes were nothing but static to George, yet the smaller man knew they were boring into him, watching him with an intense expression he couldn't see. "Tell me I'm not what you want, darlin'."_

_And he couldn't. The smug smirk playing on Dream's lips were teasing, pulling George in. The hand that was on his cheek had slid down along his jaw to settle under his jaw, carefully cradling the smaller man's face and keeping his gaze on him._

_"You're insufferable, I hate you," George mumbled, though there was no bite to his words._

_"You don't."_

_George's hands rested on Dream's chest, gently gripping his shirt. He wasn't sure whether he meant to pull him closer or push him away._

_"I don't,'' he admitted. "Tell me, fantasy, how real do you really feel?"_

_Dream's breath fell against George's nose now, it's subtle warmth a comforting sensation. As he spoke, George clung to every word._

_"As real as you've let me be. I exist as you know me. Everything you've seen, everything you've felt. Let me show you."_

_George's eyes flickered down to his lips again. The quiet hush of the stream and the sounding of crickets tuned down, giving way to the quiet ringing in the back of his ears._

_He closed his eyes and leaned in. The ringing grew louder. The hand cradling his jaw now sliding to the back of his head, pulling closer._

_He waited for their lips to meet._

* * *

His eyes fluttered open again, the ringing completely gone. The scenes played out in his head in hazy flashes as he drifted into a more conscious state. His skin was still tingling.

The disappointment weighed his heart down, and he pulled the sheets over his head, letting out a quiet sigh. _Of course, that just happened_. He closed his eyes and curled up comfortably, wanting to go back, but there wasn't a hint of sleep left in him. Still, he laid there, surrounded by linen, and let his mind pick apart everything all over again.

A part of him was annoyed, tired that his subconscious had done that to him. He was thrown into a perfect world with the perfect version of someone he knew and now that he's awake, that's all he'll be able to see of Dream. The rough fingertips, the low voice, the proximity. It all had him breathless, yearning. What's worse, he woke up before the climax of the story.

Dreams were often nonsensical. George used to have countless, embarrassing dreams of presenting a speech to his people only to realise his clothes had disappeared. The ones with his teeth falling out were terrifying in the moment, but he would always wake up with his teeth just as he had left them. Waking up brought comfort. Yet, in this case, George woke up with conflicting feelings and a weird desire for something he couldn't place. He wanted to go back.

The steady knock on his bedroom door made George stifle a groan of distaste. He sat up and composed himself, before calling out.

"Who is it?"

"It's me," a familiar voice called out before the door opened and Sapnap walked in. He had an envelope in his hand and when he saw a blur of green where the seal should be, George pulled the covers back over his head and groaned once again.

God, it felt like the world had aligned to remind George what his place was.

He wasn't just _George_ , able to stroll through the forest as and when he pleased and wade around the creek with charming, faceless men. He was _Prince Davidson_. The need for separation of the two was what kept George from listening to his gut, which was something he realised when he went back there with Sapnap the other day. Still, he would never openly admit something like that. It was like he knew how he felt, but being aware of the interferences didn't make them go away like Wilbur made it sound like they would.

"This one's confidential," Sapnap said, though his voice was muffled slightly through the covers. "Like, _super_ confidential. Kid who sent it made that very clear."

"Huh? Why?" George mumbled, rubbing his eyes and finally kicking the covers off himself.

"No idea. King and Queen Davidson have been given a letter of their own and it can only be discussed with the most loyal, trusted advisors. Whatever's in here can't get out to other nations."

George sat up and reached for it. Sapnap sat on the edge of the prince's bed, handing it over. The seal was peeled off rather carefully as he scooted to lean against the headboard.

"Is it urgent, do you know?" George asked, a faint pout forming on his lips. The last thing he needed was to read the neat, cursive handwriting of the man in question.

"I think it is. But hey, it could probably wait till after breakfast," his friend suggested, sensing the Prince's hesitance. "Just keep the letter somewhere safe so a maid doesn't stumble across it."

With his legs tucked up comfortably to his chest, he stared at the green wax seal he had seen so many times.

"Yeah, okay. Hold onto it for me, then. I'll get dressed and meet you downstairs."

* * *

_Dearest Prince George,_

_I greatly enjoyed the afternoon with you by the creek. Your words haven't left my mind, and I still ponder whether evil is born or made. I haven't settled on an answer yet._

_It's no secret that the stunted crops have affected your kingdom greatly and with winter just around the corner, I express my most sincere concerns for you and your people, and my honest desire to help. My prince, emerald is wealthy and I am more than willing to send some supplies to tide over the winter. Rather than simply giving you a few wagons of non-perishables, I feel it would be much more beneficial to your people if resources went into helping them grow what they already have instead. To summarise, I wish to send over the Dust of Emerald - enough to sustain your people comfortably without rations._

_That being said, entrusting someone with this resource is not something I have ever done. No other nation has sought for it for reasons other than greed, and have offered handsome amounts of gold. I don't want what they have to offer. I don't trust them._

_But I trust your parents a great deal, George. I've shared more with them than I've shared with most other kingdoms. They are good people, and I know they value transparency and integrity. Yet, I still feel so far from_ _you_ _. I need to know I can trust you with this resource that's been protected so closely for decades. Although you are more valuable and handsome than any sum of money any nation could possibly offer, you are human. Any kind of relationship with you is priceless on its own._

_Moreover, I want you to trust me as well. I wish to speak to you in person again. Sometime this week would be best, the seasons are changing fast. I want to know you deeper than at an arm's length away. I want to trust you, and I want you to trust me too. To do so, I’d like to show you our white flowers before they hide for the winter. There’s more to Emerald than the castle, and I promise your time will be worth your while._

_However, I respect your decision if you would prefer not to have another visit to Emerald. Your comfort comes before anything, and if my presence would not bring that, just say the word. The rations will be delivered regardless._

_I hope to hear from you soon, my dear prince._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Dream :)_

* * *

The oil paints weren't cooperating today. George had tried his best to keep his hands and mind busy, but it seemed as though the universe wanted him to dwell on the faceless man and his words.

He was sitting on the floor of his bedroom, a canvas around the size of his torso propped up against the wall in front of him. Sapnap was laying on his lap, eyes closed. He had just finished a few hours of physical training, and after the warm shower, he was ready to relax. However, the tenseness in his friend's movement and the growing frustration as he painted over different sections repeatedly made that impossible. Each jerk of the brush brought an unwelcomed movement to the thigh that he was using as a pillow.

"Are you gonna tell me what's on your mind or keep painting passive-aggressively and ruining your brushes?" Sapnap asked, rubbing his eye gently. His voice was slightly raspy from the exertion out in the field.

George glanced down at him suddenly acutely aware of his stiff movements. He let out a quiet sigh.

"You're gonna hate me."

"I'm your friend, I'm not gonna hate you," Sapnap assured, peeking an eye open to meet George's.

"You're also my advisor, you're gonna hate me."

"Well… yeah, you're right, I might hate you," Sapnap joked with a light laugh. "But I'd still be your friend, and I'd still want the best for you."

George pursed his lips as he tried one more time with the pigment. When the paint swiped on with stiff lines instead of a faded gradient, he let out a sigh and gave up.

"The letter. Dream wants me to spend another night there before he sends us the dust. Doesn't that feel a bit… I don't know." George struggled to find the words, his paintbrush now abandoned in the cup of water. "Like I'm selling my time?"

Sapnap hummed softly in consideration, watching the conflicted look on his friend's face.

"You feel like Dream's trying to buy your time, with aid as his leverage."

"I… sort of? I don't think it's that malicious, but it still feels ridiculously transactional," he mumbled, now staring at the unfinished work before him.

"And?" Sapnap looked unimpressed.

"What do you mean 'and'?" George said helplessly, hand ruffling his friend's freshly washed hair. The man's face scrunched up.

"What was it that you told your parents? 'Transactional doesn't mean superficial'?" The advisor reminded, reaching up to push at George's nose, making the prince laugh lightly and whip his head away. "He's out here sending us resources when _no_ other country had done so before. You don't even have to go, he's gonna send food anyway."

George chewed his bottom lip, still unsure. He still wasn't sure what Dream thought of him, whether he really was just a 'pretty face' to him. And yet, regardless, the sincerity in his actions, sending aid to Diamond with practically nothing in return, spoke volumes. At the end of the day, Dream wanted to get to know George and the brunette would be lying if he were to say he wasn't just as curious to know the masked man.

"You're probably right."

"Of course I am. He's trying to care, George. Try back."

The prince picked his brush up again. The oil paints seemed to be more malleable now that his worries were quelled. With his friend falling asleep on his thigh and the quiet hum of the late autumn wind against the window and curtains, George smiled softly, staring at the scene before him. It was just as stylized as it's first rendition, but with cooler tones and a glowing stream, his dream had come to life on a canvas, with the barely-noticeable white piece of bone left sitting on a rock.

* * *

Wilbur watched Niki fondly, leaning against one of his older canvases. The woman wasn't much of a painter, which made her concentration all the more endearing. Every now and then, the prince would sit up behind her, guiding her right hand to hold the brush correctly and reminding her to relax her wrist so that the lines would come out smoother. Each time, she would laugh.

Wilbur's initial reaction to the new, pink hair was that of surprise, but he found it just as beautiful as the blonde he remembered from the ball. After the first time she and Techno visited Gold, his muse had been reinvented, and works of pinks and blues were created. Now that Techno was in another private meeting with his father, they managed to slip into Wilbur's workspace and enjoy each other's company.

"I don't know how you do this every day. It truly is a skilled craft," the gentle voice spoke, her bright eyes looking over at Wilbur with such a joyful look in her eyes that he would later spend hours recreating to immortalize forever.

"It helps that I have such an inspiring muse," Wilbur responded, letting his eyes drift along her face. A blush rose to her cheeks as her gaze flickered to him for a moment before returning to her work.

"Such a poet. Yet sometimes I wonder if your words are hyperbole," Niki teased lightly, causing Wilbur to let out an exaggerated gasp. His hand flew to his wounded heart.

"To be accused of such a thing? One does not write in hyperbole if they experience emotions to the extremes, love. I view the world through a rose-tinted lens and I create the world as I see it. It's all real to me. _You're_ all real to me."

Ever the artist, Wilbur's words painted a light layer of pink over her fair cheeks. His heart fluttered at the sight and decided that he missed how her fingertips felt against his own.

“Rose-tinted lens, hm?”

Wilbur pushed himself up off the floor and onto his knees, holding his hand out to the woman still sitting on her calves and painting. She accepted it, letting the brush fall to the ground along with the other old, dried paint splatters. (Wilbur was rather clumsy when he was focused.) He pulled her in by the waist and she wrapped her arms over his shoulders, foreheads pressed together. Taking one hand from his shoulder. The prince laced their fingers together and extended it out.

"Care to dance?" He asked with a fond smile. Niki laughed, an impossibly pink shade spreading across her cheeks. 

"Here? On our knees with no music?" Niki asked in disbelief, though she didn't seem at all opposed to it. Her smile was a big tell.

"We make our own music. Here, look."

Wilbur began to hum quietly, a new tune that was unique and memorable. They swayed slightly to the music they'd created, as much as they could while still on their knees, with Niki occasionally giggling at the absurdity of the situation. After a few rounds, Niki started to pick up on the melody, humming along with him. This made his smile grow, and the hand that lay on her waist raised to cup her cheek gently. Their eyes locked, both fuelled with admiration and a new feeling that Wilbur wasn't afraid to call love.

This continued for a few minutes, simply enjoying the presence of one another until the quiet creaking of the door made their heads snap to the side.

The pig mask stared at them, it's owner's expression completely unreadable.

Their eyes went wide and Niki instantly pulled back, picking up the paintbrush and beginning to put away the paints laid out. Wilbur instantly rushed to help her tidy up, unsure what else to do. There was a tense air, neither of the pair knew how Techno would react to catching them running off and romancing in secret.

"I'm so sorry, I thought the meeting would take longer," Niki stuttered out before she was stopped with a hand on her shoulder. Dropping to a knee to be at her level, Techno began helping her tidy up, which surprised them enough.

"Nothing to apologise for. But I do need you to come with me," Techno's voice spoke evenly. Wilbur's heart sank as he heard this, and Niki's face fell.

"Are you going to talk to dad about this?" Wilbur asked quietly.

"We are headed to talk to Phil, yes," the man spoke emotionlessly, looking over at Wilbur. The prince's heart thumped in his chest until a smile broke out on the other man's face. "He needs to show Niki where her room is, after all."

Niki and Wilbur froze. They looked at each other, confused expressions for a moment. Sensing this, Techno let out a soft laugh.

"You'll have plenty of time to paint once we get settled in. But for now, Phil has our permanent bedrooms ready and he wants to make sure we're familiar with them before dinner."

"We're moving in?" Niki asked, eyes wide and disbelieving. Techno nodded, patting Wilbur on the back as assurance. He could tell the Prince was still unsure.

"An agreement has been finalized. We'll be moving in with the Watsons and we're gonna be operating from here. We pack when we get back to Obsidian tomorrow."

He watched his second-in-command squeal with joy, her arms wrapping around the prince who looked between the two, still stunned. A smile rested on Wilbur's face as he tried to process what he had just learnt. 

"Phil and I will be waiting for you by the meeting room," Technoblade said before slipping out of the room, the door closing with a quiet click.

Through the door, he heard their shouts of excitement. He let out a soft laugh as he walked back to where he left the king. Phil was tidying up some papers at the long table. He looked up at Techno with a warm smile.

"Hey, son."

Techno let out a laugh, amused though not opposed to Phil’s choice of addressing him. He helped with tidying up some of the meeting notes, putting away the ink and quills.

"Do I have to call you dad, now?"

Phil shrugged, giving Techno a gentle pat on the back as a thank you for the help.

"Only if you want to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're around halfway done!! This really is moving quick. And yes, I've been extra motivated, so there are WAY more chapters than I will ever be able to post within a week again, I think. But I hope you liked it!! I really liked writing the dream sequence and the end ehehhehe
> 
> And holy shit, thank you for 3k hits! It's ridiculous! I appreciate all of you so so much. Thank you for your support thus far, be it with kudos, bookmarks, comments, or even just reading. I feel so fulfilled writing this, and it genuinely brings me so much joy seeing the response it's been getting. Have a lovely day everyone, I hope you enjoy!


	9. Unravel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mark of new beginnings can often be found in the memories of old ones.
> 
> Dream definitely has old ones to draw from.

_The castle was quiet now. It was eerie. Techno felt his blood buzzing underneath his skin. His senses were on high alert. Every little creek, every audible breeze, every noise that wasn't his own made him tighten his grip on his axe, now dripping with crimson. He had barely had a chance to catch his breath all this while. After the hours of clashing metal and tourniquets and flaming arrows and the taste of blood and…_

_And now it was quiet. Pristine, even. He almost felt guilty for dragging the red across the marble floors, almost cringed when he crossed a carpet, leaving glaring footprints where he walked. But he reminded himself of the hurt his people had been caused at the hands of this man, this entire nation._

_'The carpets were red, anyway.'_

_Techno knew how they operated. He wasn't a stranger to the customs and values of the Nether. It was a ruthless place, where people came second. It's just business. They were resourceful, intelligent, even brave in their own right, he had to give credit where credit was due. When it comes to The Nether and The Overworld continents, the respective countries rarely inter-mingled, with the exception of the unspoken Emperor who had a hand in everyone's pockets - the rich, ambitious king of Netherite._

_However, the said-Emperor made the mistake of trying to pocket Technoblade’s region as a whole, with the intent of turning it into a satellite state for them. That's how Techno ended up in the Kingdom of Netherite, with blood on his shoes and the axe feeling lighter than it should ever be, as though the weight of those it maimed was nothing. His heart should be heavy, his armour should feel like it was chained onto him, but neither of it was true. And he hated every minute he spent guiltless. It made him feel less human._

_Although he pushed it away, he knew that this was his nature. This was what he was good at, unstoppable with a shield and axe. It was in his blood to fight, to lead his people to victory, and rest assured, that he will. Technoblade was the warrior who wanted to be more, and he refused to let his lineage dictate his morality, especially when it was known for its contempt for human lives. He trained to be a great warrior, but he never wanted to fall into the view of seeing people as pawns, seeing lives as expendable._

_He was proud of who he had become, the nation he had built in a short span of time, but he could never be proud of where he came from._

_That dilemma was what led him across an ocean to Netherite's castle, wielding an axe into the throne room, where the king sat, dressed in a black suit. Technoblade stared at the lines on Schlatt's face as he stormed forward, the dark indentations extending from under his eyes to just above his cheekbones. The distinct features of Netherians, to be cursed with nasty marks that looked like scars since birth._

_"I didn't expect you to come here." Schlatt rose from his throne, an unreadable expression on his imperfect face. "All alone. Through the guards out front, no less. I'm impressed."_

_Techno kept walking, through the grand doors of the throne room, up the first layer of steps. When he realised the masked man had no intentions of stopping, Schlatt tried to keep his composure, but it was clear that a physical confrontation was not something he had prepared for. He had nothing on him._

_“Woah, woah! No need to come up all angry-like. We’re civil men, surely we can talk about this,” Schlatt said with a nervous laugh._

_“You have the balls to put the lives of my people at risk.” Techno snarled, tossing his shield to the side. “To try and_ annex _my country.” The tainted battle-axe was lifted over his shoulder, and the rage was practically emanating from him. Schlatt was serious now, grabbing a shield hidden from under the throne. “And now look at you. Without your men, you hold no power.”_

_With a simple swing of the broad, weighted axe, the shield was knocked from the king’s hands, and within a minute, the well-dressed man was bruised and tackled to the ground. Despite not having the upper hand, seeing the fire in Technoblade’s eyes somehow made him feel a flash of pride, confidence._

_“Alright, alright,” Schlatt hissed under the weight of Techno’s foot on his chest. He let out a bloody cough. The drying blood on the brute’s boot smudged onto the king’s shirt. “Get it over with, already.”_

_Technoblade looked down at him, only now catching his breath. He had his arm extended, the flat blade of the axe pressed under the king's chin. He hesitated, and it appeared he waited too long, as Schlatt let out a laugh, voice coarse as gravel._

_"You can't do it, can you?"_

_Techno carefully lifted the hog mask over his head and tossed it to the side, revealing his features. Pressing the blunt centre of the axe down onto the king's throat, he caused the king to cough and forced him to look up at him. Grimacing from the pressure on his windpipe, Schlatt didn't have the chance to smile at the sight. The black Netherian marks that matched his own, and bright red irises staring back at him. When Techno finally eased the weight of the blunt metal edge of the axe, Schlatt let out a broken laugh, a disgusting grin on his face._

_"Welcome home, Netherian."_

_Then the pressure on his chest felt heavier, almost crushing, Schlatt's grin never left. If this is how he'd die, he knew it would be worth it to see Techno's high-and-mighty resolve crack to show who he really was; A brute with a bloodlust. A Netherian._

_But Techno refused to give him the satisfaction._

_"I'm not going to kill you. But you're going to call off your troops," he stated calmly, lifting the blade again so the sharp edge was pressed to Schlatt's throat. Whether it was a threat or a promise, he wasn’t sure. "You're going to leave me and my people alone, or next time you won't be so lucky. I'm not going to kill you, but you’re gonna wish that I gave you the mercy."_

_Schlatt looked up at him, eyes half-lidded and unimpressed, but he didn't argue._

_"You're making a mistake. You belong in the Nether, it's in your blood. Your eyes. You can't pretend forever," Schlatt taunted, a sickening tone in his voice. "Look, I'll make it easy for you. I'll close my eyes if you don't wanna watch the life drain outta me. Kill me, take my country. You're clearly worthy of so much more than a little fuckin’ plot of land in a continent bound to crumble."_

_And Schlatt did just that, closing his eyes, waiting for a blow that never came, waiting to meet his maker with open arms._

_But all he got was Techno lifting his foot off of his chest, the cool blade disappearing from his skin. When he opened his eyes, he watched as Techno made his way towards the door, his cape trailing behind him and hiding the silhouette of his armour. The pig mask had been picked up, and the axe was tucked in its holster by his waist._

_"I'll never be like you."_

* * *

Dream’s eyelids were heavy that morning. A meeting with the advisors the night before had gone down rough. When raising the potential issues that came with sending Diamond the Dust, he had predicted the committee would be a little difficult to convince, given their traditional way of doing things and their hopes to maintain his father’s plans and legacy. However, it was more brutal than he had expected, with his committee rarely taking in a word he said, and repeating the points he had already countered, insisting he ‘hadn’t thought them through enough.

He decided it was probably best to introduce some fresh blood into the advisory committee eventually, so he wasn’t arguing alone with a bunch of old geezers who couldn’t keep an open mind to opposing viewpoints and new ways of doing things. But that was an issue for another day.

The meeting adjourned past midnight, with the king having gained no insights into the pros and cons that he hadn’t already been aware of. A late night in meant that he had fewer hours of sleep before his Thursday morning training. Moreover, with George coming over later that day, he probably wouldn’t be at his peak. He wasn’t all too worried, though. Something about the prince’s company gave him the energy of a week’s worth of sleep. He could never be short with that man or look at him with anything less than admiration.

After his training, as he sat having breakfast with Tubbo seated across from him. The boy was whittling, a cloth underneath to collect the mess of wooden bedding it formed. It had started to take form, revealing a rather detailed owl, and Dream smiled softly as he watched the heart and soul that he had put into it.

“It's coming along well,” the king noted between his bites of bacon. Tubbo glanced up briefly. "All that work's really paying off."

"Thank you. Niki's helped a lot with teaching me how to hold the knife right."

"That's great, can't even tell this is your first one."

"Oh, it's not," Tubbo laughed. "This is my third try. I kept carving too much at a time, the previous ones ended up tiny and misshapen, so I had to try again."

Dream laughed as well. He was surprised he hadn't noticed, though it made sense why over a week's worth of whittling didn't shrink a piece of wood. Tubbo had been working on it every free moment he had.

"Well, the craft shows. It looks like it's almost done."

“It is. My little sister is going to love it,” he said with a soft smile. “Her birthday’s today.”

Dream’s fork halted midway to his mouth and he paused, looking up at the boy with an alarmed expression.

“Today? Tubbo, you should be home celebrating, why didn’t you say anything?” Dream scolded lightly.

“I was going to ask you if I could take tomorrow off to take her out for a picnic, actually,” he admitted. “But I got nervous. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“Tubbo, go home,” the king spoke gently, a soft smile on his face. “You can take the rest of the day off, and the next three days even if you want.”

Tubbo’s eyes lit up, wide and surprised.

“Three? But Prince George is coming later, surely I should be around to make sure he’s comfortable.”

“There're plenty of hands around to do that. Besides, it’s just a visit. I’ll be fine,” Dream assured, finishing up the last of his food. “Finish the gift and then head home to spend time with your family.”

The boy looked up at Dream, the widest smile on his face.

“Thank you, really.”

“Of course. Just tell me next time, idiot.”

Tubbo laughed bashfully, continuing his work.

“I will.”

As he made his way out of the dining room, he ruffled Tubbo’s hair gently, a smile on his face.

“I’ll see you in a few days.”

* * *

The castle felt emptier without Tubbo fussing and keeping him company. This time, when George arrived at the tall white gates, a guard was present to greet him and take him to Dream. The prince was tentative as he was lead to the sitting area again, where the king was finishing up the tea. Upon hearing the door open, Dream stood up, greeting the prince with a bow and a smile.

“My prince. Thank you for joining me today.”

“Of course,” George said quietly, almost tentatively. Something about his aura that day was different, Dream noticed. “I haven’t had the chance to thank you for your offer-”

Dream cut him off gently, his hand raised with somewhat of a grimace on his face, though it was hidden from the prince.

“No need to thank me yet. Just… I wish to spend time with _you_. Just you. Kingdoms, titles, nothing of the sort.”

George was surprised by this, and flashes of his dream a few nights before playing behind his eyes. No titles, no pressures. He could do that.

“If that’s the case... You mentioned white flowers? I want to see them.”

Dream grinned at this response. He held his hand out, and hesitantly, George accepted it, the touch of calloused fingers against his own feeling more and more familiar each time.

“Of course. They’re beautiful, honestly, and I know beauty when I see it.”

George wasn’t sure how they ended up there, but they soon found themselves in a section of a garden, walls of shrubbery keeping the nook hidden. It was quaint, smaller than he’d expected. The bench they were sitting on was suspended under a sturdy tree branch, swaying slightly to his movements. Before them, rows of white rose bushes lined the area. Not just the petals, but the stems and the leaves were the same quartz-like shade. There was nothing of the sort down in Diamond, so he looked on in amazement.

And in his hands was one of its kind, plucked and de-thorned carefully by the king himself. The prince looked at it intently. The petals were soft, almost like cotton. He ran his thumb along the slightly darker spots on the stem, where the spines used to be.

"Why do you do that?" He asked absentmindedly, tucking his legs up.

"Hm?" Dream hummed, shaken from his thoughts.

"The thorns. You always pick them off. Why do you do that?"

The mask proved to be useful once again, hiding the faint blush that rose on the king's cheeks. He hesitated, though he already had an answer. George was still on guard, his walls not yet lowered, but he was getting to a comfortable state. Dream could tell from the way his shoulders slumped slightly, leaning against the backrest of the swing. The way his tone wasn't forced and laced with professionalism. Before he could overthink it, the words slipped from his lips.

"I didn't want them to prick you."

The prince wasn't sure what to make of it. The alarms in his head that went off, telling him that Dream looked down on him, were ever-present, but he took a conscious effort to drown them out. He ignored the surface-level inhibitions that voiced doubts on Dream’s motivations, and instead listened deeper to the part of him that thought it was simply a sweet gesture.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "You know, I’m fine. You don't have to-"

"I know," Dream interjected quickly. "I… just wanted to."

A strange silence fell over them, with none of them knowing where to take the conversation from there. They were sitting on words they couldn't say, or rather, didn't dare to say. Both were seemingly only aware of their own uncertainty, not realising that they were in the same boat.

Looking back, George realised that he had no past conversations to draw on. He had told Dream about his painting, told him his favourite thing for breakfast, showed him his happy place. Dream knew so much about him, and he felt like an asshole for not paying much mind to him. The king had sent supplies and he barely bothered to get to know him.

"I never asked you much about you," George said quietly.

Dream, who had also fallen back into his head, looked up at George, surprised.

“Hm? What d’you mean?”

“I don’t know, I never asked about you this whole time.”

“I never noticed. I guess I’ve just... wanted to know about _you_ ,” Dream admitted. “What do you wanna know?”

This was uncharted territory for them. Dream watched once again as George’s walls lowered, but rather than sitting where they once towered around him, he was reaching, hand out, a tentative step forward. It made him anxious, almost, knowing George was right there, before him, and he wasn’t sure what was going on in his head.

“I’m not sure. All I really know is that you spar and train a lot,” George said quietly. He was scared, almost. “Tell me what you like to do, what makes you happy.”

George had put himself in quite a vulnerable spot with that question. He wasn’t sure why, it was a probe at Dream, and he was asking, not telling. Being open to listening like this would probably be the first time he had actually verbalised that he had any interest in finding out who Dream was as a person. Sure, he had always been a little curious to know if his reputation and first impression of the man was at all accurate to him, but his uncertainty prevented him from mentioning it to anyone, even Sapnap.

Meanwhile, Dream was thinking hard about that. What did make him happy? He wasn’t sure if ‘happy’ was a state he would consider himself to be often. Not that he was upset or anything, he simply felt neutral most of the time, especially the days he was away from most people. When Tubbo was spending his off days with his family, or in Gold with Tommy.

“I guess like people. I hold my friends close, take care of them in any way I can. I can spend hours with Technoblade or Tubbo, just sitting in silence and talking about nothing when we both have the time. The company keeps me content.”

“Tubbo’s a nice kid,” George hummed in agreement. “A little young to be a servant, though. He couldn’t be older than 15, surely.”

“He’s actually 16,” Dream said with a quiet laugh. A soft rumble that George had never heard before, at least not in the way it came out. “He’s a good kid, I don’t make him do things. He wants to help out, and I show him how.”

“That’s nice, I’m glad he’s taken care of." George looked down at his hands, rolling the flower by its white stem between his index and thumb. “What else do you like then, other than people? That just sounds to me like you’re human.”

"I like fire," Dream said, sounding a little unsure. "The crackles, the warmth. I used to sit in the library, by the fireplace, and just write."

"You write?" George asked, his interest piqued. He glanced over at the masked man, noticing how he wasn't looking back at him for once.

"I used to. Poems and stuff, but that was forever ago. They weren’t very good."

George had never pegged Dream as the creative type. His letters were eloquent, but it never particularly struck out to him. With some people, their flair shone through their words, mannerisms. Spending ten minutes with Wilbur would probably be enough for someone to know that he creates beautiful art and wonderful music. You could see it in your eyes, hear it in his voice. Dream, on the other hand, who often had his sword on his hip and his mask firmly attached, held a different aura.

Without realising, George leaned in to listen.

"What were they about?"

Dream felt his face flush gently. He remembered his poems, but he wasn't sure if it was something he was quite ready to share with George just yet. He had only granted Technoblade the privilege of reading his old writing, and since their themes were far from platonic, it felt strange to tell George too much. Bringing up a past lover to the man he wanted to court felt counter-intuitive.

The truth was, a large portion of his poems were freeform, created as an outlet to express his admiration for a boy he used to love. Sure, some were about his mother's passing, the pressures of a Kingdom relying on him as a young prince and sole heir to the throne, his loathing for his father. But mostly, he found joy in amplifying his happier emotions through his quill.

He hadn't written much since his coronation. He didn’t have much reason to.

"A bunch of things. I wrote about things that made me feel, I guess. Responsibility, love, death… Anything I needed to."

The prince couldn’t help the smile that rose to his face. It was the thought of Dream in his study, working with his quill the way George did with his paintbrushes, and creating the world through his eyes that bridged the gap between him and his perception of the king next to me.

"That's... really neat. I'm glad you have that sort of outlet like I do with painting. Maybe you're not just the cold warrior you make yourself to be,” George said with a light-hearted, yet genuine tone.

They were quiet again for a bit, so Dream decided to continue.

"Maybe I could show you someday."

George smiled softly again, feeling his heart flutter at the thought of Dream sharing something so intimate. This time, he didn't try to quell his emotions. He simply let himself be swayed, allowed the tremble in his stomach and the blush on his cheeks to take him to heights he dared not explore. It was the beginning of something different for them, something full of potential.

"I'd like that."

* * *

"You did good today, son," King Philza said with a warm smile, patting Wilbur on the back and causing his heart to swell with pride.

They had just ended a meeting with some representatives from Redstone, and Wilbur really held his own. He was proving himself to be more and more ready each day. While they had differing ideas on how things should be carried out, he could see how Wilbur's ideals were focused on what was best for his people, rather than what was convenient. Even though Wilbur lacked the experiences to understand why certain policies wouldn't be practical, Phil found great pride and comfort in the fact that he had raised him well.

"Thank you. I sure hope I did. If I made a mistake, it's going straight back to Redstone and I know Eret's going to jump on it," Wilbur remarked, causing Phil to laugh.

"Come on now, don't speak ill of the man. He's a difficult lad to work with, sure, but he cares just like you do."

"Yeah, well, his end doesn't justify his means," Wilbur muttered, despite the smile on his face. "But don't worry, I know how to keep things civil. I'm a big boy now."

Phil grinned and nudged Wilbur lightly. He had a strange look on his face that Wilbur couldn’t quite read.

"Of course. I know you are. You know, growing up, your _priorities_ are going to start changing soon."

Wilbur tilted his head, brows knitted in confusion.

"Huh?"

"Oh, you know... You're gonna have big boy priorities. Your attention might be divided, and that's not such a bad thing-"

"Dad, what are you playing at?" Wilbur urged with a laugh, still unsure where he was going with that.

Phil had finished drying off his quill and rose from his seat at the head of the meeting table. He had a knowing smile on his face.

"Nothing. Just… I think Niki's a wonderful young lady is all."

Wilbur flushed deeply, a shade Phil had never seen before. Seeing the bashful look on his face made the king laugh lightly. The younger man didn't know how to respond to that. He had never spoken to Phil about his relationship with the Lady before, and could only assume that Techno had told him about the other day. Still, his father's approval was a good thing, so he couldn't exactly blame his (somewhat) brother.

"She's- I-... Yeah. Yeah, she is."

Wilbur left the room swiftly after, with that thought in mind. Niki was still in Obsidian, and was set to arrive with their belongings later that evening. A day was more than Wilbur wanted to bear without her, especially now knowing that she would soon be staying with them in the same castle. It wasn't soon enough for his liking.

As he was returning to his quarters, he bumped into Tommy, who had two wooden swords in his hands. He appeared to be heading back to his room to put them away.

"Hey, dickhead," he greeted his younger brother, reaching over to give him a pat on the head. Tommy let him, though he looked a little distracted.

"Shut up, I'm not a dickhead. You're a dickhead," he barked back, with no bite to his words. Sensing the lack of enthusiasm, Wilbur frowned gently.

"You're a bit off today. What happened?"

Tommy motioned to the swords he was dual-wielding, his brows knitted together in concern. It wasn’t a sight that Wilbur saw often.

"Tubbo didn't come by today."

"So? He's probably busy. He has jobs to do, you know," Wilbur clicked his tongue, trying to ease his concern.

"He always sends a letter when he can't come. He didn't send a letter yesterday." Tommy cleared his throat, puffing his chest out slightly. "Not that I'm _worried_ or anything! Big men don't get worried about things and I'm the _biggest_ man. I’m just… annoyed that he blew me off."

Wilbur sighed, readjusting the crown on his younger brother's head. It had gone lopsided when Wilbur messed his hair up before.

"Tommy, big men have the _most_ to be worried about. You should know that, you're a big man. I can tell because you _are_ worried. Look, why don't you send a letter over tomorrow? Maybe you can visit him in Emerald for once."

Tommy scrunched his face up, but his mood did seem to lighten up a bit. They walked up the stairs to the direction of their rooms, their bickering bringing life to the white and gold hallways.

"With Dream? That'd be weird."

"Why would that be weird?"

"'Cause he's Dream. Dude's got no face."

"Techno's got no face."

"He does, I've seen it! Besides, he's like Tubbo's scary older sibling, I don't wanna hang out with him around."

"Tubbo deals with dad and me all the time."

"Yeah but that's different, innit."

"It's literally not-"

"It is!"

"What, am I not cool enough to be scary?"

"You are the least cool person I know-"

* * *

> _The sun leaves kisses on your cheeks_
> 
> _In the form of speckled rays of light,_
> 
> _And leaving behind spots, freckled and bright._
> 
> _The ocean’s tide, my vessel leaks_
> 
> _Crashing into murky depths below,_
> 
> _Where our lips may meet at last, warm and slow_
> 
> _Oh, demigod, your beauty transcends this world,_
> 
> _And I thank the stars that I wasn't born in the next one_
> 
> _Because this feels like the start of a universe on its own,_
> 
> _Where you twist and unravel me, where I come undone._
> 
> _-Dream_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for over 4k hits! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, this fic as going by much quicker than I expected, and I'm so grateful for all the support. Leave a kudos if you liked it, and let me know how this one made you feel! As always, I appreciate constructive feedback.


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